Pins in the Map
by wright.or.wrong
Summary: He takes a sip because it's his damn graduation after all. He should be celebrating. Post-Advanced Introduction to Finality.
1. Her Eyes Are Like Champagne

- Pins in the Map -

Spoilers: Right up through 4x13

Summary: He takes a sip because it's his damn graduation after all. He should be celebrating.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: Really, I don't know what to say for myself. They were only supposed to talk.

* * *

He's on his way back from the bathroom, absently scrolling through e-mails on his phone, when he glances up for minute and spots her sitting on the steps outside.

The rest of the group is still in the study room, sipping from plastic wine glasses, laughing over cake, and dancing to a bad house music playlist that he would bet big money is from the Dean's iPod, so he hesitates for a minute. Her body language doesn't suggest any turmoil or crisis, but the fact that she's sitting out there without a coat in her little sleeveless dress doesn't exactly seem like one of Annie's usually level-headed decisions.

But she's grown up on the likes of "Gossip Girl," so it could be an orchestrated move, separating herself from the group where she hoped he'd find her so they could play out some sort of melodramatic moment that does no one any favors. The air between them may be still at the moment, but he knows full well that it certainly isn't clear – he's just not sure that this is the right time to open that can of worms. But then she tilts her head just a bit, so he can see her profile in the frosty light, the determined, little lift of her chin, and he's headed toward her just like that.

He refuses to analyze the why of it.

"What are you doing out here all by yourself?" he says as the door shuts behind him. "It's freaking freezing."

She nearly jumps at the sound of his voice, and her eyes are wide when she looks up at him, so she seems genuinely startled that he's come out after her.

"Just getting a little air," she says breezily. "And the sky is so clear! Look at all those stars."

He glances upward, where the sky is so full of pinprick stars that it looks like a bottle of her glitter paint has exploded above them. She leans back against the steps, stretching out with one leg crossed over the other, almost like she's at the beach catching rays instead of sitting on dirty stone steps on a chilly night. One of her little black heels with the bow in the front dangles from her toes and he watches it swing back and forth for a second, mesmerized. It isn't until he's sitting down beside her that he spots the champagne at her side, and when she follows his gaze, she offers the bottle to him.

He takes a sip because it's his damn graduation after all. He should be celebrating.

"I love champagne," Annie says, out of nowhere. There's a wistful smile ghosting her lips. "The first time I ever got drunk, it was on really flat champagne."

"Oooh. That sounds juicy," he chuckles. "Let's hear it."

"I was about thirteen, and my parents were having this stupid cocktail party for some reason or another, and, predictably, they got into this massive screaming match before they could clean up. So I was able to snag three or four half-empty bottles that were scattered around the house and sneak them up to my room without them seeing me." She laughs, shaking her head as she takes the champagne back from him. "But then I guess they would have had to notice I was there in the first place to catch me so…"

She does this casual little shrug, her eyes darkening just a bit as she takes a sip of the bubbly, and he catches a glimpse of the world weariness that lurks beneath her perky optimism, careful planning, and purple pen addiction.

"I'd think with that association, you wouldn't like champagne all that much," he says, trying to sound neutral. He doesn't want to go poking around in her painful childhood if he's not wanted – he's not Britta, for God's sake.

She grins, though, in a sly, secret way that reminds him once again just how sexy she is. He really doesn't have much hope for the collective intelligence of Greendale's student body, not if the straight male population is any indication - because somewhere on this campus, there has to be a halfway decent, semi good looking guy, right around Annie's age, who sees how beautiful and passionate she is and could catch her eye, take her on dates, bring her home to meet his mother. Why hasn't some lucky bastard snatched her up yet?

"But it made me feel so much better, Jeff," she practically purrs. "All light and fuzzy and sparkly."

He laughs, taking the bottle when she passes it back to him.

"I better take it easy then. I'm sparkly enough as is."

She sighs, and turns to watch him take a sip, her chin resting on her forearm. Her smile isn't so much adoring as it is soft and calm, but he still has to look away, staring at the pavement in front of him instead. He's not old enough for a mid-life crisis, he reminds himself – because mid-life crises are things that happen to married guys in their late 40s with a couple of rugrats at home and a boring desk job as an accountant or a claims adjuster. He's nowhere near that hell yet – and the only excuse for looking at this pretty, little girl and thinking that he's in love with her is a mid-life crisis.

Of course, he _loves_ her. Like he loves Shirley and Abed and Troy and Britta, and maybe, deep down, even Pierce. In a completely safe, completely platonic, brotherly way that isn't the least bit creepy. He would do things for her that he'd never dream of doing for another woman, but that's because she needs someone to look out for her and there's no one else around for the job.

And yeah, sure, he's also ridiculously attracted to her. He's jerked off to fantasies of her enough times to feel just a little bit guilty about it, and he could sketch every curve of her hot, little body, from her soft cheek to her perfect breasts to her tiny waist and firm ass, from memory alone. If her necklines get any lower, he's decided that he's just going to set up camp in her cleavage and never leave.

But the love and the lust don't have anything to do with each other. They're two very separate feelings that he can compartmentalize to keep everything clean.

Sometimes, though, when she looks at him in just the right way, he feels blown apart inside, like there's barely anything holding him together, and for a moment, it seems like being in love with her is the only reasonable explanation.

"You're quiet," she says, nudging his thigh with her elbow.

He shrugs and takes another gulp of champagne.

"I'm a little tired. Must be all the excitement."

"Tired?" she repeats, with a skeptical, amused little smile. "Not thinking, maybe?"

For a minute, he wonders if she's somehow read his mind, followed his dirty train of thought. It's nothing that would totally shock her, he thinks, but it's enough to make everything between them complicated and messy again.

"Because I've been thinking," she declares. "I was just thinking about how we've only known each other for four years. Just four years."

"So?" he says with a smirk. "Isn't that like an entire third of your life?"

Teasing her about her age is his default move whenever things get a little dicey, and she predictably bumps her shoulder against his in a scolding way. The rasp of her bare skin against his jacket makes him he wonder again how she can stand to sit out here in that sleeveless little number.

"On one hand, it seems like so much longer than that," she continues. "And on the other, it feels like we just met yesterday. Like there's still so much…"

She trails off, her voice fading into a sigh, and there's something almost bemused about her expression.

"That's some heavy duty thinking," he says after a moment. "Getting a little air, my ass."

She laughs and bites at her lip, like she's been caught doing something naughty.

"Well, this is the kind of occasion that calls for introspection and reflection, right? I mean, that's what Abed would say."

"He'd also say that someone should be declaring their love for someone else or having a baby in an elevator or some cliched crap like that, so I'm not sure we should totally trust his judgment."

She tilts her head like she's trying to get a better look at him, and her serious, steady gaze makes him feel like he's being studied - until she gifts him with a smart, little grin that would take a lesser man out at the knees.

"You already had two women publicly declare their love for you. I think it'd be greedy to ask for anything more."

There's nothing challenging in her tone, but the reference alone is enough to conjure up memories of their ill-fated kiss outside that ridiculous dance and he wonders if she's throwing down some type of gauntlet.

If so, he's choosing to ignore it – that's the safest option.

"Have you met me, Annie? I'm walking, talking greed in a $3000 suit." He straightens the lapels of his jacket to emphasize his point. "Besides, I don't think it really counts if they only say it in some weird game of one upsmanship."

She lifts her shoulders thoughtfully, like she's seriously contemplating the in's and out's of public declarations.

"I guess not. Though my expertise in this area is admittedly limited."

He snorts.

"Please. You drove some poor guy to serenade you in the cheesiest way possible right there in that very spot." He gestures to the street in front of them with the champagne bottle. "I think you know plenty about grand romantic gestures."

She lowers her head, blushing slightly, but he can tell she's secretly pleased at the notion that she can inspire some sort of feverish devotion. He offers her the champagne again, though the bottle's nearly empty now. Her fingers brush his on the exchange, and her skin feels as cool and smooth as silk. He watches as she tips the bottle back and drains the rest of it in one long sip. When she leans in then to huddle against him and steal some of his warmth, her lips are wet and he can smell the sharp, sweet scent of the champagne on her breath. He hunches over just a bit, moving even closer, and feels himself gliding down on that slippery slope into something dark and dangerous.

Subject change, he thinks. Something light and frothy to pull him back from the edge.

"But you know, with my luck, if someone did declare their undying love for me tonight, it would be the Dean."

He exaggerates a grimace, and Annie giggles, vibrating against his side in a seriously distracting way.

"You can't really blame him, though, can you? You are irresistible."

He bobs his head in agreement.

"I'm glad people are finally starting to acknowledge that."

She taps a finger on his knee, and he looks down at the gray fabric of his pants, which seems to make her skin look even paler.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she whispers, sounding a little flirty and a little earnest. He wonders exactly how much she's had to drink. "You're my favorite. But don't tell Troy and Abed. It might break their hearts."

He smiles because really, there's no way he can make himself feel bad about that.

"Your secret's safe with me," he whispers conspiratorially. "As long as you don't tell anyone that you can bend me to your will just by fluttering those baby blues. I've got a reputation to protect."

She huffs out a little laugh and loops her arm through his. He can feel her breast against his elbow, but he tries his best to ignore it.

"This isn't the last time we'll see you, right?" she says. "You're not going to disappear on us?"

"Come on. You can't get rid of me that easy."

He wraps his hand around her wrist, her pulse twanging against his thumb. She nods absently, but he doesn't think that she's really convinced. He wonders if she can honestly imagine that kind of future, one where he drifts out of their world like he'd never been there at all.

"Annie," he says, almost embarrassed at how tender his voice sounds. "I meant what I said earlier. I love you guys."

She looks up at him with her unbelievably wide eyes all bright and wet, and nods again, more firm and serious this time.

"When I came here," she whispers. "I never, ever thought I'd meet someone like you."

He doesn't know exactly what she means – what it is that she thinks he's like – but he knows that her telling him is important.

"Me either. You are …"

He trails off because, honestly, he doesn't know how to capture her in a single, stupid sentence. He's a guy who can always find the precise words to fit any occasion, sway any audience, achieve any goal, but there's something about her that he can't quite wrap his head around. Annie seems to understand what that means, and she smiles at him in a misty, yearning sort of way. He feels her warm breath on his cheek, which prompts him to pull her in for a twisted, awkward half-hug that leaves her small knees crushed between his. She shivers in his arms because, really, she must be frozen by now, but when she starts to pull away, he cups her cheek before she can get too far from him.

They seem to make the decision in the same moment, so they lean in and meet in the middle.

She sighs into his mouth, jumpstarting something needy and desperate inside him. She tastes even sweeter than the champagne, and he can't stop himself from pulling her body flush against his. She claws at his shoulders frantically, like some kind of wild animal, and he loses any semblance of control right then, pushing her back against the library steps like their fucking plane is going down and it's now or never. Her head bumps against the stone pillar behind them, but she doesn't seem to care, hooking a leg over his thigh to pull him even closer. Their frantic fumbling knocks over the empty champagne bottle, and it rolls off the steps, landing in the bushes with a thud.

It is pure fucking insanity.

He slides his mouth over her cheek and down to her neck, and she pants against his ear like she's just finished a marathon. Her skin is wonderfully cool against his burning face, and he flashes his teeth against the side of her neck, wanting just a taste of everything that she is. Annie's hands slip under his jacket so they're separated from his skin by nothing but the thin fabric of his shirt and her fingers dig into his back like she's afraid he might vanish into thin air.

"We can't…" she moans quietly, and though he doesn't stop licking and sucking at her throat, his first thought is, Thank God. Thank fucking God that she has the strength to stop this because he can't control himself enough to do it after nearly four full years of wanting to fuck this girl senseless. He's been a good, decent guy the whole time, keeping his hands to himself and pretending she's just a cute, kid sister type, and now he wants his Goddamn reward. Sure, he got the diploma for his trouble earlier, but he thinks he deserves a little something more.

He needs Annie to save him from that selfish, horny part of himself that is ready to literally fuck up everything that's good and right between them. He needs her to do the sensible thing.

Except she doesn't.

"…do this here," she finishes in a halting, breathless voice – and the emphasis is most certainly on "here," meaning she thinks that there is a place where it's perfectly fine to do it. He kisses her again, she grabs hold of his belt in a death grip, and spontaneous human combustion becomes a real possibility all of a sudden.

"Where's your car?" she demands, her teeth clicking against his, and he honestly can't remember where he parked the fucking thing. It was hours ago, when touching Annie hadn't crossed his mind yet.

(Well, that's not entirely true. In his delusional daydream, his evil alter ego seemed to be getting plenty from bad girl Annie so it's not like he can say the thought honestly didn't cross his mind today. But not in any kind of real world way. That distinction is important – he can't be responsible for his twisted, dirty subconscious.)

But she pushes him back and he tugs her to her feet and somehow, they're stumbling blindly toward his car. There's still plenty of time for one of them to come to their damn senses, but he's charging toward the parking lot pretty much on auto-pilot and Annie scurries behind him, clutching his hand as she tries to keep up with his quick pace. Her heels click against the pavement in a syncopated rhythm, and it's a fucking sexy sound that's right in time with the throbbing of his hard-on.

This is exactly what he wanted to do three years ago when he found himself unexpectedly kissing her outside that dance – fortunately, he'd had enough restraint to realize what a ridiculously bad idea it was then. Something's different now, though. Sure, his lust has been simmering on the backburner for years now as opposed to mere months, which definitely makes it harder to control, but there's something else at play too. He may not be saying goodbye, nothing may actually be coming to an end with them, but his graduation makes the night feel like some kind of magic moment.

Jesus, he's been listening to Abed for too damn long.

His car comes into sight, and somehow he manages to thumb open the locks without dropping his keys. Annie practically shoves him into the backseat and his head thuds against the far window as he stumbles in, but it barely registers. He doesn't really fit in this kind of confined space, but he finds a way to make it work so she can close the door behind them. She's in his lap less than a second later, straddling his thighs so her dress rides up and he can see the silky shadow of her panties. He clutches at her hip with one hand and snakes the other through her hair to pull her down to his mouth again. She rocks against his erection with the kind of single-minded focus and determination that she usually reserves for all-night cram sessions and diorama-building, and he seriously cannot believe that this is sweet, innocent little Annie Edison in his arms, tugging at his tie and digging her nails into his shoulder like she's going to ride him until he can't walk straight for a week.

She pulls back, flinging his tie over his shoulder and plucking at the buttons in the middle of his shirt. Her hair falls in a dark curtain around her face, but he can see her biting her lip as she works, like this is the most important thing she's ever done. Her hips are still moving, and he's got very limited mobility but he pushes back against her and the friction between them is the greatest fucking tease in the world. Her hands slip into the opening between the halves of his shirt, her fingernails scratching against his ribs. It doesn't seem fair that she's under his clothes when he's still grabbing fistfuls of her dress, so he tries to tug the top of it down. It gets stuck somewhere near her armpits and she has to shimmy a little to help him get it down to her waist. Her lacy, little black strapless bra has plenty of appeal, particularly in the way it does little to actually contain her breasts, but it winds up tangled at her waist with the top of her dress all the same.

The sound she makes when he finally gets his hands on the rack he's been trying not to drool over for four years is somewhere between a breathy sigh and an agonized moan. Her hands cover his, like he might actually be stupid enough to take them away, and when she meets his gaze, the look in them is so hazy and dark that he would seriously think she was drunk if he didn't know any better. Just a few minutes ago outside, her skin felt like ice and now she's burning like a fever against him. She ducks down to kiss him again, and he feels her hands at his belt, blindly undoing the buckle, her wrist resting against his erection with just the smallest hint of pressure.

"Condom," he mutters against her mouth. "We need a…"

It's the first words that have been said since they got to car, and his voice sounds loud and hoarse in the small space. Her hands still, and he anchors an arm around her waist to keep her pressed to him while he scrambles toward the center console in the front seat for a condom. She's still kissing him as he gropes through the mess of pens, wrinkled napkins, spare sunglasses, breath mints and protein bar wrappers for the all-important strip of foil packets, which definitely complicates the search, but his fingers finally settle on the condoms and he nearly pumps a fist in victory.

Annie goes back to work on his pants, undoing the belt, button and fly in what feels like record time. Her hand slips inside his boxer briefs to take him out, and she runs her fingers along the length of him from root to tip almost experimentally. He clenches his jaw and wishes there was time for a good old-fashioned hand job and the main event, but they're pushing their luck as is, so he tears open one of the condoms with his teeth and slips it on. She rises to her knees above him to try to get her panties off, but there's not enough room for her to maneuver.

"It's okay," he says, brushing her hands away. "Just …"

He hooks a finger in the crotch of her underwear to move it aside, and then she sinks down on him and they groan together so loudly that the group must hear them all the way back in the damn study room. She wraps her arms around his neck and he clutches at her waist, but they stay still for a long second.

There's no going back now.

She shifts just a bit, wringing a moan out of him, and then starts to move in earnest, circling her hips like she was fucking born to do this. She balances herself on his shoulders and leans back just a bit, tossing her head back. Her breasts are bouncing his face and she is so fucking tight around him, so he thinks that this must be another really vivid daydream, that he'll come back to himself to find that he's still sitting at the table in the study room, with Annie all prim and proper in her seat beside him.

The part of him that knows just how wrong this is doesn't have any clout anymore because this is no sweet, little girl in the back seat of his car. It is a woman that's rising and falling in his lap like a tidal wave, ready to blow his fucking mind. He's willing to go to hell if that's the price he has to pay in the end – it'd be worth it.

Her pace gets a little more frantic and he doesn't think he can hold back much longer, so he slips a hand inside her panties. She gasps when he finds the right spot and he keeps going until she rattles around him like a live wire and he's coming just a second later with an embarrassing grunt that he tries to muffle against her shoulder.

When he rouses a minute or so later, he's slumped back against the door, the arm rest digging into his back, and Annie is slumped against him, a boneless, breathless heap. He has no fucking clue what to say – he's pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to spell his own damn name at the moment – so he stays silent, trying to catch his breath. She lifts her head from his chest and she's never looked sexier, with her glassy eyes, flushed cheeks and a piece of sweaty hair plastered along her jaw.

"Wow," she says, sounding a little surprised. He's almost offended – didn't she imagine that they'd have fantastic, brain-melting sex? Every ridiculous, frantic fight they've ever had certainly indicated that there'd be fireworks if they ever got each other's clothes off. "Um… wow," she repeats again, laughing this time.

"That's kind of an understatement."

He reaches up to brush the hair away from her jaw, and she turns into his hand, nuzzling his fingers. Then she's sliding off of him, onto the seat between his legs, and pulling her bra back into place. He grabs a crumpled napkin from the floor to get rid of the condom and clean himself up. The windows are all foggy, and he leaves a handprint in the condensation when he braces himself against the glass to sit up straighter. He watches Annie right her clothing as he buttons himself back up, and she seems strangely calm. He is a pile of jangly nerves, even if every muscle in his body feels as if he's just had the most amazing massage ever.

She senses him watching after a minute and looks up at him with those big, unflinching eyes of hers.

"I didn't plan this," she declares, almost defiantly. "If you're thinking that—"

He shakes his head.

"I'm not thinking anything, actually. My mind's kind of blown at the moment."

She grins, looking as pleased as if he just handed her a shiny, little gold star for her collection.

Yes, Annie, he thinks. You get an A+ for this. No grade grubbing necessary.

She crawls back over him and kisses him, softer than their earlier kisses but just as determined. He loves the sultry look in her eyes and her messy hair when she pulls back. He rubs his thumb over her lips and she brushes her tongue against it, and just like that, he's thinking about round two.

But that's just craziness, so he nods in the general direction of the library.

"We should probably get back before… you know."

Outside the car, Annie straightens her dress and runs her hands through her hair to smooth it.

"Okay?" she asks.

It is impossible to look at her now and not think that she looks well and thoroughly fucked, but that's probably more in his own head than anything else so he nods and offers an encouraging smile. They fall into step together and start back toward the library. On a whim, he throws an arm around her shoulders and she winds hers around his waist.

It's fine, he tells himself, because it's something they would have done before she rode him like bucking bronco in the backseat of his car and none of their friends would think anything of seeing them walk together like this.

Back in the study room, the party's still in full swing and a karaoke machine has somehow found its way into the mix. Shirley is belting out "Respect," while Britta dances in the background and Abed films it all with his phone.

"Where have you guys been?" Troy asks as they slink in. "We saw you sitting outside and then when we went to get you for karaoke, you were gone."

Annie drops her eyes to the floor, like her shoes have suddenly become the most fascinating object in the room. Fortunately, he knows how to play it cool.

"I wanted to take a walk around campus," he lies comfortably. "For old time's sake."

Troy nods, looking very somber. The Dean flutters over and clutches at Jeff's arm.

"Jeffrey! I thought we'd lost you. Now, tell me… what would it take to get you to sing another little duet with me?"

He grits his teeth, shaking his head slowly.

"There isn't enough champagne in the world."

The Dean pouts in a frightening way, and Jeff looks over at Annie, who somehow has become even tempting now that he's satisfied nearly four years of sexual curiosity. It doesn't make any sense, but she smiles at him in a secret, naughty little way and he wants to throw her down on the nearest flat surface and go to town.

Later, when she's giggling her way through "(I've Had) The Time of My Life" with Abed, he angles his seat at the table toward the scene so he can watch her. He doesn't know what the hell to do about any of this – his fantasies never quite make it to the morning-after stage – and there is the very real potential that this is going to blow up in his face big time.

But then, Annie does a little twirl across the room, her dress fluttering around her, and he thinks that there's more than enough time to worry about the fallout later. Britta comes over, boosting herself up onto the table beside him.

"You okay?" she asks, squinting. "You look a little…"

She gestures with her hand like she's trying to pull the right word out of the air. He panics for a minute because she knows well enough what his post-coital face looks like and for all he knows, there's a trace of it still in his expression. He lifts his plastic champagne glass from the table and hoists it in her direction.

"Been hitting the good stuff," he says, and Britta nods sagely.

They both look across the room, where Abed is fighting a losing battle to convince Annie to reenact Johnny and Baby's climatic lift and the Dean is trying to dirty dance all by himself. Jeff and Britta look at one another and laugh.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here," she says smartly. "But I bet this is not how you ever imagined you'd be celebrating your graduation when you first showed up at Greendale."

He looks over at Annie, who's kicking off her shoes so she can dance without stumbling. Their eyes meet suddenly, like she senses his gaze, and the smile that she gives him is equal parts nervous, sexy, and giddy.

"No," he says. "I never imagined this."


	2. A New Kind of Hello

All standard disclaimers apply - I own nothing.

A/N: I kind of liked the first part as a stand alone, but then I started jotting down notes for some other installments and here we are. I've enjoyed more than my fair share of J/A fic too, so I feel like it's good to give back. Hopefully, it's good anyway.

* * *

He knows that he's hit rock bottom when he starts to look at his phone, a once trusted ally, like it's somehow betrayed him.

It's been two days since he and Annie defiled the backseat of his car in the hottest and dirtiest of ways, and they still haven't spoken a single word to one another. He knows that he should call her, text her, email her, *something* her, but he keeps hoping that she'll do the dirty work for him. And every minute that passes without his phone ringing or chirping with an incoming message drives him a little closer to the edge.

Of course, he still doesn't know what to say to her either.

He could apologize for taking advantage of the situation - all the warm nostalgia that his graduation stirred up, the free-flowing champagne, and the impeccable cut of the suit he wore likely tipped the scales in his favor. He probably needs to explain that he's not really a dating kind of guy and definitely not boyfriend material, especially for someone like her, so if anything more is going to happen between them, she should keep her expectations low. Really, though, all he wants to do is invite her over to try out the new 1500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets that are currently decorating his bed.

None of those options seem like exactly the right answer, and it's all starting to make the space behind his eyes ache just a bit.

If he's honest, he thought he'd hear from her pretty much the minute he got home from the graduation party. He expected a text where she declared her undying love, full of ridiculous emoticons of hearts and flowers, stars and rainbows, and he drove home terrified of the prospect, the thought that he'd have to talk her down from some romantic comedy ledge because he'd opened the door for her in the most reckless and thoughtless of ways.

But he went to sleep that night without a word from her, and now, two days later, he's almost disappointed that she hasn't gone crazy over him. The sex was seriously hot and she's been half in love with him for years – shouldn't she be dying to see him?

Now that he's finished with Greendale, there isn't even the study group to force them into close quarters where they have no choice but to confront the sex-having elephant in the room. He's starting to wonder if he should just man up and call her – or clear his head with yet another 5-mile run - when, just like that, his luck seems to change and his phone beeps with an incoming message.

He grabs for it with embarrassing desperation, nearly knocking it off the table. It might only be a text from Abed – _Potluck tonight 7. Beer? _– but it means that he and Annie will be in the same room, which is a start.

So he puts on his favorite cadet blue shirt, heads to the liquor store for a case of Blue Moon, and drives to her apartment for what will either be a nightmare of an evening with tears, screaming, and the rest of the group finding out that he screwed sweet, little Annie in his car while they were celebrating his graduation just a few hundred feet away or an absolute fantasy of a night in her bed when he gets the chance to show Annie that if she thought the other night was hot, she has no idea what he's capable of when he actually has some room to work.

He can't see it being anything in between, really.

When he buzzes up to the apartment, he expects Troy or Abed to come down to let him in so she catches him totally off-guard by sauntering down the stairs. She's wearing a tight navy sweater that shows off enough cleavage to give him flashbacks to the perfect weight of her breasts in his hands the other night and a tiny polka dot skirt that leaves him wondering how long it would take to get her underwear off with his teeth, so he's rooting for the fantasy scenario big time.

"Hey," she says, as cheerful as ever - but she's a little flushed and her eyes seem especially bright so it seems like he's not the only one with unfulfilled fantasies from the other night. "Long time no see."

"What'd I tell you? You can't get rid of me that easy."

She smiles and he smiles back, and they stand there in the foyer of her apartment building like a couple of idiots. He wishes he could tell her that nothing is different between them just because they've seen each other naked, but Fuck, everything is different and all he wants to do is map every inch of her body with his tongue.

This is exactly why he wasn't ever supposed to give in –- Annie Edison is like the freaking Bermuda Triangle and he might never pull himself out alive.

"Do you need help with that?" she asks, gesturing toward the case of beer.

It's a ridiculous question, but he resists the urge to point that out.

"I think I can manage."

She nods and starts up the stairs. He's right behind her, and he becomes painfully aware that it's so much worse to actually know how she looks and feels under her clothing than to be stuck imagining it – because right now, it's cruel and unusual punishment to watch her hips and ass sway right there in front of his face and not be able to touch her.

"There's the graduate," Shirley nearly sing-songs as he and Annie come through the door.

He smiles obligingly.

"In the flesh."

Everyone except Pierce has arrived, and they're gathered around a table like a hundred memories he has of them – except somehow the thing with Annie has changed the dynamic, like he's navigating a mine field just by entering the apartment.

"Annie, the kitchen timer just went off," Abed says. "But I followed your instructions and didn't touch anything."

"Thank you, Abed," she says, just a touch condescendingly, though it's mostly lost on her roommate.

She takes the beer from Jeff and heads for the kitchen. For a moment, he just stands there, listening absently to Britta argue with Shirley about the moral implications of vegetarianism. He can see Annie through the kitchen cut-out, busy at the stove, so he follows her. She's left the case of beer on the counter beside the oven and he makes a beeline for it – but just at the last minute, she moves over to grab a potholder and then she's right between him and the counter as he reaches for a bottle. His chest bumps against her back, and he's not sure who it is that lets out a little moan but it rattles through both of them like lightning.

"Oh, sorry," she says, sounding a little breathless. "I'm in the way…"

She takes a step toward the stove and he takes a step backward to the other side of the room.

"No problem."

He cracks open his beer and leans back against the counter to watch as she pulls a baking dish out of the oven.

"Smells good," he offers.

She smiles at him over her shoulder.

"Chicken enchiladas," she says, placing the dish on the stove top. "We probably should have coordinated, though. Shirley brought spaghetti and meatballs, Troy made frozen French fries with cheese sauce and Britta brought tofu steaks … it doesn't exactly all go together. "

He grimaces.

"It sounds terrible, actually."

She laughs, tilting her head in what he's starting to think of as a very sexy way.

"Well, it's really about the company, right?"

Her smile is soft and just a little bit sly, and he lifts his beer bottle in her direction.

"And the booze," he teases. "Sorry there's no champagne, though."

She's still smiling, but she lowers her head a little shyly and tucks her hair behind her ear. He wants to taste the exposed curve of her neck so damn badly that he has to bite his tongue to keep it in his mouth.

"Turns out you were right," she says. "You're plenty sparkly on your own."

If she's trying to turn him on, a good old fashioned ego stroking is probably the best place to start when they're in a crowded apartment. He grins and takes a step toward her because, fuck it, he's just going to kiss her for a minute while everyone is busy in the other room and get it out of his system. She tilts her head back, anticipating his every move, and he's about to lean down and –

"Annie! Pierce is here," Abed calls from the entryway. "We can eat."

Jeff groans out his frustration, and she looks up at him apologetically, but she's biting her lip in a way that suggests that maybe she's just as frustrated as he is. He helps her carry the rest of the food to the table, and he winds up sitting directly across from her - which means he's forced to look at her every time he glances up from his plate. They keep catching one another's eyes too, and it's like she knows that he's mentally removing her clothing one piece at a time and he knows that she's doing the same with him and it's the hottest staring contest that he's ever had in his life. He accepts that there's something seriously wrong with him because he's more turned on than he's been in a long time, with their friends yammering on all around them and a plate of mushy tofu congealing between them.

"Did you find a job yet?" Abed asks suddenly, and he somehow manages to look away from Annie for a minute.

"It's been two days, Abed. I've kind of just been taking it easy."

"Isn't that what you've been doing for the past few years?" Britta teases.

Jeff shrugs, unashamed.

"I have made it into an art form."

"I'm with, Jeff," Pierce declares. "We deserve a little time off. I'm thinking of spending a couple of weeks at one of those nudist resorts… you know, just *hanging* out."

The collective groan of disgust at the table signals an end to dinner, and Annie starts clearing the table. When she leans over to grab his plate, he can feel her breasts press against his back, smell the warm vanilla scent of her perfume, and he clenches his jaw so tightly that it almost hurts. He wonders if she's doing this on purpose, torturing him with some kind of intention in mind. If she's trying to wear him down or coax him into committing some atrocity or another, she's doing a bang-up job – hell, he'd even agree to help her fucking move if she asked him right now.

He's starting to feel a little too much like a caged animal for his tastes, so he gets up and takes a lap around the table. He tries to listen to Abed and Shirley's conversation about a circus or magic act, and then there's a fight about whether they should play a game or watch a movie, but the voices all turn into droning white noise.

He's seriously got to get this thing with Annie settled if he ever wants to get control of his damn head again.

He's lost track of her for the past few minutes, but then she's sidling up to him all discretely where he's leaning back against one of the bar stools and offering him a fresh beer.

"We should talk at some point," she says quietly. "Right?"

He bobs his head, feeling just a bit uneasy.

"That's probably a good idea."

Of course, he has no clue how they're going to disappear from the group without setting off warning bells and they can't exactly have this kind of conversation in front of their friends (Well, maybe they could, seeing as how many awkward, uncomfortable, inappropriate conversations members of this group have had in front of the others over the years, but he definitely doesn't want to. The situation is complicated enough without everyone and their mother throwing their damn two cents in). He's not sure what possible excuse he can come up with to get her alone that doesn't makes it totally obvious that there are some serious sparks arcing between them at the moment.

Fortunately, Annie thinks well on her feet.

"Hey, Jeff," she says, loud enough so that everyone in the room can hear. "My bedroom window got stuck so it's open a crack and all the cold air is getting in. Troy and Abed haven't had any luck, and our super is this really gross guy with a foot fetish, so would you mind…"

She smiles and flutters her lashes in a ridiculously cartoonish way, so he sighs, acting properly put upon.

"I guess."

He follows her across the room, and just like that, without any pain or fuss, they're alone in her bedroom. He's only been in here once or twice, but it's exactly as he remembers, with all its bright colors and girly floral prints. He sits gingerly on the edge of her bed, watching as she closes the door behind them. When she turns to face him, there's something so open and vulnerable in her expression that it makes him a little uncomfortable.

"You think it was a mistake," she says, with a surprising lack of accusation in her voice. "That's what you're going to say."

He shakes his head automatically – he was about to kiss in her in the damn kitchen an hour ago. How much of a mistake could he really pretend it was?

"No. That's not what I was going to say." He lifts his shoulders helplessly. "Honestly, I don't know what to say."

She sits beside him, tucking her knee up under her, and he forces himself to stop staring at the creamy vanilla skin at the inside of her thighs.

"But the thing is, I'm pretty sure that I'm no good for you, Annie." He turns a bit so he can look her in the eye – he owes her that. "I mean, if some other guy just like me got mixed up with you, I'd be leading everyone with torches and pitchforks to drive him off. I know that."

"Jeff," she sighs, and her hand lands on his knee. "You're not the same guy that you were when we first met… you've changed. And whether you want to admit it or not, deep down, you're a good guy."

He laughs, dropping his hand on top of hers.

"Deep, deep, deep down, maybe." He looks at her, and her eyes are so wide and bright that it would be nearly impossible to lie to her. "It's not like I haven't thought about it, you know. I have. For longer than I'll ever admit but… I just keep running through all these scenarios in my head where I wind up hurting you, not because I want to, but just because I'm me. And when I hurt you, then everything between us is ruined, Annie, probably for good, and that risk seems way too high."

She nods, and her chin's trembling just a bit so he thinks she might cry. This is it, he thinks. It's already started.

"But then," he says carefully. "I think about the other night and never touching you again and I could seriously lose my mind." She turns her hand over on his knee and winds her fingers through his, which feels way more erotic than it really should be. "And you're right, Annie. I have changed because four years ago I would have fallen into bed with you and never given it a second thought. But I can't do that now. I can't just do what I want and say to hell with the consequences. Not when there's the potential that they could seriously suck."

She bobs her head slowly like she understands. Her hair falls all around her face, and he can't stop himself from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear. Her smile is the soft, sad kind that always seems to get him, and he leans in so he can finally kiss her like he wanted to when he first saw her tonight. She wraps her arms around his neck and melts into his body in a way that makes him want to say, Screw it, and throw her back on the bed with their friends just on the other side of the door. She pulls away, her face pressed to the side of his neck so he can feel her breath down the collar of his shirt.

"Why can't we just act like regular people?" she whispers, her lips tickling against his skin. "People who haven't spent four years in a really confusing, really complicated, incestuous kind of friendship? I mean, don't people just like one another and see where it goes? They don't make promises or guarantees. They don't worry about the risks."

"I don't know what—"

"We don't have to decide anything. Do we? I mean, can't we just …" She shrugs, and her shirt slips off her shoulder so he can see the lacy, pale blue strap of her bra. "See what happens?"

He smirks.

"By see what happens, you mean have more sex, right?"

She laughs, lifting her face from his neck.

"Maybe," she teases coyly, and she is surprisingly good at playing the vixen. "If that's what happens."

He knows that he should tell her no, that this is a disaster waiting to happen, and that tracing his finger along the neckline of sweater isn't sending the right message at all, but he can't help himself.

"It took me two days to come up with this 'see what happens' plan," she says lightly. "But it was the best I could do."

He smiles – his ego seriously appreciates the fact that she's spent the past two days trying to figure out a way to convince him to sleep with her again. Admittedly, she probably wasted the effort since the sight of her breasts straining against her sweater and the knowing little gleam in her eye all night are all the persuasion he really needs.

"Really?"

She nods.

"Actually, I didn't come up it with until I saw you tonight. I was kind of desperate."

"See what happens?" he repeats. "Well, Abed's not here to provide the spoiler alert so allow me… any situation with the two of us alone together in the foreseeable future is going to end with sex. Lots of it."

She blushes, but the hungry look in her eyes tells him that she doesn't disagree. She swoops in and kisses him so deeply and slowly that it only proves how right he is. He reaches for her hips, trying to drag her into his lap, but she pulls away abruptly. He watches in a daze as she stands in front of him and smooths her hands over her skirt.

"This one's not," she says pointedly.

She cocks her head in a way that says she's way too pleased with herself, and while he's seriously frustrated and annoyed, he has to admire how well she's played him.

"You little—"

"What are you guys doing in here?" Britta pushes open the door and pokes her head in. "You've been gone for like ten minutes."

There's nothing suspicious about the scene that she's stumbled upon – he's sitting on the bed and Annie is standing at least four feet away. Of course, if Britta looked closely enough, she might see the flush in Annie's cheeks and the fact that his pants are substantially tighter in the crotch than they were when he came in here and put it all together.

Fortunately, her powers of observation suck on a good day and she's been drinking tonight so it's likely that she wouldn't even notice if she walked in on them and Annie had her hand down his pants.

"Jeff's trying to get out of fixing my window," Annie says, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's a terrible friend."

She's on a serious roll tonight, though he thinks he'd appreciate it a little more if he wasn't on the receiving end of it.

"Fine, fine," he huffs, standing stiffly. He's still half-hard, but he doesn't care if everyone can see – it's Annie's fault anyway. "If you're gonna be such a nag about it…"

He brushes past her, bumping her a little more than is necessary. The window is legitimately stuck – did she purposely jam it so they'd have a ready excuse to be alone? – so he has to fight with it for a minute before it finally slides closed the last inch or two.

"There you go, Princess."

"Thank you," Annie says sweetly. Her smile is sly and sexy, so he knows it's just for him. "Now I won't freeze to death in my sleep tonight."

"That's a relief."

"Okay, okay," Britta says, from her spot slumped against the wall. "Now that the stupid window's taken care of, get out here and play Pictionary. You can't leave me alone with the rest of them - they're taking it way too seriously."

Jeff groans, because he seriously cannot think of anything he'd rather do less than play fucking Pictionary, but Annie grabs his hand and leads him back to the rest of the group. He has to sit on an uncomfortable wooden chair and make half-hearted guesses about Pierce's terrible drawings, while Annie's across the room, gamely sketching artwork that even Britta can figure out without too much trouble. His tolerance for this kind of crap is even lower than usual, and he can't help blaming Annie and the fact that he wants to be inside her again so badly that he's actually started to wonder how difficult it would be to murder all of his friends just to get some one-on-one time with her.

At the end of the night, he doesn't even get a minute alone to say goodbye. Troy, Abed and Pierce are all breathing down his damn neck, so he gets a perfectly platonic hug and a barely flirty smile. He gets stuck driving Britta home too, which means he has to keep a tight rein on his frustration for an extra ten minutes while she babbles on and on about how Pierce obviously suffers from false consensus bias and she might be able to help him if he was just willing to sit down and have an honest session with her.

Back at his place, he undresses in the dark, leaving his clothes scattered around his bedroom. He tosses and turns in bed, kicking at his new sheets like it's somehow their fault that he's alone. He grabs his phone from the nightstand and sends out a petulant message.

_When you said we'd see what happens, I assumed something would actually happen._

Less than a minute later, his phone chimes with an incoming message.

_Maybe next time. We'll see. ;)_

This time, he doesn't feel the least bit guilty when he pictures her doing ungodly things to him so he can get himself off and finally get some sleep.


	3. Every Airplane Has a Pilot

All the standard disclaimers apply.

Definite M-rating for this chapter.

* * *

When he wakes up and sees cold, icy rain pouring down, he is seriously tempted to blow off his therapy appointment.

But the weather is really just an excuse.

The fact that it's his first session since his graduation is the real issue since Dr. Strome is going to want to spend the entire hour discussing it in excruciating detail - how he feels about it and what he plans to do next and whether the past three and a half years have been worth it.

None of that is exactly high on his conversational to-do list.

But he navigates the rain-slicked streets to her cozy, little office anyway for reasons that he doesn't want to examine too closely. Maybe it's a sign of his fledgling maturity that he's willing to do things that make him uncomfortable and edgy. Or maybe the sad fact is that he doesn't really have anyone else that he can talk to about certain parts of his life and there are a few pesky details that he needs to get off his chest.

The six people that he's closest to in the world aren't viable candidates since they're either (1) directly involved, (2) likely to choke the life out of him, (3) fanatically concerned with the fate of his mortal soul, (4) too interested in pervy, pornographic details, (5) unable to keep a secret, or (6) incapable of making it through a single conversation without comparing real life to a movie or television show.

If he wants to talk, there's really only one option.

As predicted, Dr. Strome spends most of the session poking and prodding his every thought about what it means to be done with Greendale, to have finally earned a degree honestly (or, at least, more honestly than before), to have cleared the biggest hurdle of his adult life. She is in her mid-fifties, with a sleek, silver bob and perfectly tailored suits. There's something equally motherly and sexy about her, so he's seriously creeped out when he sometimes finds himself attracted to her. Plus, he also kind of hates her because she's one of those rare women that his charm has literally no effect on.

Which is probably why she's such a good therapist.

"We have a few minutes left," she tells him, tapping a pen against the pad in her lap. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

He hesitates, playing with one of the pillows on her plush sofa. No one's forcing him to go to therapy, so the only person that he's screwing over if he lies or holds back is himself. The fact that sometimes, he still does it anyway probably speaks to just how much he needs therapy in the first place.

But why did he bother keeping this damn appointment if, deep down, he didn't want to discuss the biggest thing that's happened in his life recently.

And it sure as hell isn't his graduation.

"Something happened, actually," he says, and Dr. Strome raises an eyebrow. "With Annie."

He doesn't have to explain who Annie is, of course. He's spent more time than he's comfortable with trying to explain the complicated mess of his feelings for her to Dr. Strome – and for all the time that they've spent discussing the issue, there haven't exactly been any breakthroughs.

Unless Dr. Strome counts what happened in the backseat of his car as some kind of epiphany.

"What happened exactly?" she asks.

He shrugs, like it's not a big deal – which, of course, is the biggest lie of all.

"We had sex," he says simply. "Actually, we're probably going to have it again, so maybe it's more accurate to say that we're _having_ sex. I don't know."

Dr. Strome bobs her head, jotting something down on her yellow legal pad.

"I see."

She spends her day dealing with all manner of sociopathic, delusional nutcases, so she never seems phased by anything that he tells her and she always manages to keep her tone entirely devoid of judgment. That doesn't stop him from feeling the need to explain himself, though.

"It happened the night of my graduation," he tells her, toying with the fringe on the sofa's pillow. "At the party afterward."

Dr. Strome nods again, cocking her head a bit.

"In the past, you said that Annie was off limits because of her age. You thought that she was too young, inexperienced. Why did you change your mind?"

He smirks, trying for his most roguish, charming look.

"Because I was horny?"

Dr. Strome's expression doesn't change in the slightest; she's like a fucking brick wall.

"I imagine you felt amorous on other occasions too, Jeff. But you never acted on those feelings. Why this time?"

He clasps his hands together in his lap and studies them, like he might find an explanation in his perfectly manicured fingernails. He's not entirely sure why he gave in this particular time when he probably could have had Annie a hundred times in the past and somehow always managed to hold back. Like everything with Annie, it's complicated.

"I don't know," he admits. "Maybe because I graduated and it felt like the end of one chapter and the start of something else? I don't really know."

"And how do you feel now?"

He barks out a humorless laugh and shakes his head. He should tell her about his crazy darkest timeline fantasy so she can understand exactly how his fucked-up subconscious feels about the whole thing, that there's some part of him that sees sleeping with Annie as about as evil and twisted as it gets.

But that is a can of worms he definitely doesn't want to open up at the moment.

"It's safe to say I'm a little conflicted," he finally says. "The last thing I want to do is hurt her and I don't really see this ending any way but bad. But you know, I'm selfish too, and I've wanted to sleep with her for years. And it was pretty fucking spectacular, so you can see my dilemma."

"Is her age still an issue?"

"Well, she's only 22 and I'm 35. We're not exactly on equal footing, are we? "

Dr. Strome purses her lips, like she's thinking very carefully.

"Is that how _you_ really feel, Jeff?" she asks. "Or is it how you think other people will feel?"

It's a valid question, for sure - because he can't deny that he's thought long and hard about how the other people in his life would react if they knew what was going on between him and Annie. He isn't the only one who's changed in the last four years – his friends have too. In his past life, the guys at the firm would have thought him a rockstar for banging a sweet, young co-ed. Now, his friends might flay him alive – well, Shirley and Britta anyway. The guys probably won't care much beyond the initial thrill of gossip.

He lifts his shoulders tiredly.

"It doesn't really matter," he says. "Annie could be 32. She's just different. From me, from other women. I actually care about what happens to her and I know I can't really be what she wants in the long run. "

Dr. Strome nods slowly.

"But you're going to continue sleeping with her?"

He sighs, laughing a little.

"I don't have any choice, Doc. It's like I got a taste and now I can't stop."

"Jeff," Dr. Strome says, in an irritatingly calm voice. "There's always a choice. And it's important to recognize that because it can help you understand what it is you really want."

He considers her words in the elevator on his way down to the lobby and as he walks to his car and even as he sits behind the wheel with the engine running. What the hell does he want, he wonders. Sex is the easy answer, but if that's all he's after, he's better off finding some random woman whose disappointment won't sting and burn the way that Annie's does. That would be easier for everyone, right?

Maybe.

He's not sure anymore.

Abed calls just as he's about to pull out of the lot, but he answers the phone anyway because whatever the kid may want, at least he'll get right to the point.

"Troy and I are going to see 'Top Gun' in IMAX tonight. 8 o'clock. Wanna come?"

"Huh?"

"Annie said we should invite you. She says you're a big Tom Cruise fan. I can't believe I never knew that about you, Jeff."

He's about to protest, defend his good name against such libelous slander, when it hits him – this is Annie's ridiculous, roundabout way of letting him know that she's going to be all alone in her apartment tonight.

"I appreciate the invite," he says. "But I've got plans."

"A date?" Abed asks, sounding more than a little curious.

"Something like that."

"Okay. Maybe this weekend, we can watch Risky Business at our place. It's a classic."

Jeff laughs.

"Sure, maybe."

There's a part of him that wants to make Annie squirm, let her think that her plan didn't work, but really, he's only punishing himself too if he waits too long to show up. Still, he manages to make it until a quarter after eight before he drives over to her building. He doesn't call because he likes the element of surprise, and it's just his luck that the front door is propped open with that damn brick that Annie hates so much, so he's able to make it all the way up to her apartment without alerting her to his presence.

She opens the door almost immediately after he knocks, like she's just been pacing in front of the entryway, just waiting for him to show up. She's wearing a simple purple camisole and flowery skirt that he's probably seen a hundred times before, but her feet are bare and her nails are painted a bright cherry red, which drives him crazy for some reason.

"If you wanted to see me," he says cockily, leaning against the door jamb. "You could have just called and invited me over."

She's blushing and fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, but she tries her hardest to play it cool.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says primly. "I was planning on spending a nice, relaxing evening by myself."

He steps inside, crowding her against the wall just for fun.

"Sorry, but if you're going to go around disparaging my good name by claiming I enjoy the films of Tom Cruise, you're obligated to make it worth my while."

She closes the door behind him, looking even more flushed. He's seen this wild, hungry look in her eyes before, probably when she was desperate for A or some other academic honor, but it's so much sexier when he knows that it's directed at him.

"Do you know how rare it is that I get three uninterrupted hours alone in this apartment?" she asks. "I had to seize the opportunity. And don't even try to pretend that you weren't seriously disappointed that we weren't alone here the other night. Because I have a text message that proves otherwise. "

He shrugs, like he doesn't quite know what she's talking about. He's the king of playing it cool after all.

"Next time, just call."

She grins, and he's seriously starting to wonder how he managed to keep his hands off her for so long.

"I thought it was funny. Having Abed invite you."

"I bet you did."

They stand in the middle of her apartment just staring at one another for a moment. They both know exactly what's going to happen tonight, but there's something seriously hot about drawing it out, letting the anticipation simmer a little longer. He slips out of his jacket and hangs it on the back of a chair.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, heading toward the kitchen. "There's some leftover Thai in the fridge."

"I'm good."

She comes out of the kitchen with a bottle.

"Beer?"

He takes it from her, and though there's plenty of room, she brushes up against him as she walks past him toward her bedroom. Her body is warm and so fucking soft, so he follows right on her heels. Just like the other night, he finds himself sitting on the edge of her bed, sipping a beer. But this time, she closes the door behind them all the way and latches a little hook and eye lock near the top.

She catches him watching and shrugs.

"I installed it after I woke up to Abed and Troy filming me sleep for the third time," she says. "I don't even want to know what they're doing with the footage."

"You don't happen to sleep naked, do you?" he asks. "Because if that's the case, I can think of a hell of a lot they could be doing with the footage."

She glares at him, flipping her hair over her shoulder almost indignantly. But then she's turning off the overhead light so there's just a small lamp on the bedside table glowing in the room and he's in no mood to joke anymore. Annie fidgets a few feet in front of him, her fingers playing with the hem of her skirt again, like she isn't quite sure what to do next.

"I wasn't nervous at all the first time," she says softly. "Why am I so nervous now?"

He smiles as encouragingly as he can manage.

"We didn't really have much time to think the first time around. But we don't have to do anything now, Annie. We're just seeing what happens, right?"

The idea that he might leave here without touching her is seriously enough to make him cry like a little girl, but he has to give her an out. She tilts her head, like she's considering his words very carefully, and then gifts him with a soft, serious smile. He watches, nearly mesmerized, as she comes to stand right between his legs and takes the beer out of his hand to set it on the nightstand. His hand slides up the outside of her thigh like it has a mind of its own, his fingers just teasing below the hem of her skirt, and his skin must be cold from the bottle because she shivers as he tries to hold her steady. She traces her fingers along either side of his jaw, tilting his head back and crouching down so she can kiss him.

She may not taste like champagne tonight, but the sensation of her mouth over his, her tongue sliding slowly against his, goes straight to his head, where it fuzzes his brain and makes his skin feel prickly and hot. He clutches a fistful of her skirt, dragging it up the back of her thighs to keep her close, and she leans into him, letting him hold her up.

"I want this to happen," she whispers against his lips. "I've been thinking about it ever since we got out of your car."

He nods incoherently, not sure if he's agreeing or approving, and grabs her hips to drag her down on top of him. They fall back against her pretty pink sheets and he blindly kicks his shoes off as she continues her slow, deep assault on his mouth. He loves the weight of her on him, all soft where he's hard, and when she starts grinding her hips against his, the feeling is almost too good to stand. He groans into her mouth and he feels her smile and fuck, she's enjoying this so much, which isn't a surprise but somehow manages to turn him on even more.

She rises above him to straddle his lap, and her hair falls around her face in a tangled mess so he reaches up to push it back. Her mouth has the smudged, rubbed-raw look of someone who's been thoroughly kissed, which only makes him want to kiss her more. But her hands slip under his shirt, easing the fabric up and trailing fire everywhere her fingertips graze over his skin. She tugs the shirt all the way off, shoving it into the pillows beneath his head, and rocks her hips against his again until she has him cursing under his breath, digging his hands into her waist to keep her anchored in just the right spot.

There are plenty of things to admire about Annie Edison – her intellect, her drive, her passion, her competitiveness - but right now, he's profoundly grateful for how thorough she is, how meticulous and methodical. There isn't an inch of his chest and stomach that her fingers don't trace over, and when she's done, she blazes the same trail with her lips and tongue, the blunt ends of her hair brushing over his skin to make the whole thing even better. He makes embarrassing, whiny noises deep his throat that he hopes she can't hear, but just when he thinks he can't take much more, her fingers are at his fly, undoing the button and tugging down the zipper.

He forces his eyes open so he can watch her pull off his jeans and scoot to the edge of the bed to get rid of his socks too. She crawls back over him, diving in for another kiss, and there's something so damn hot about the fact that he's down to his underwear while she's still fully dressed. Her soft clothing rasps against his skin, setting every one of his nerve endings on edge. Eventually, his impatience gets the better of him and he rolls her under him because she's more than had her turn. It is ridiculous how good she feels beneath him, wrapping her entire body around his so there's barely a single spot where they aren't pressed together.

He's had a hard time coming up with a solid profile of Annie as a lover based on their first encounter in his car – it just happened, without any planning or real thought, so there wasn't any time for self-consciousness or doubt. But now, when it's all premeditated, sure, she might be a little nervous, but she isn't the least bit shy or timid like he might have, maybe, imagined she would be when he let his mind ponder the possibilities of sex with sweet, little Annie.

She wants him and she doesn't seem the least bit embarrassed about it.

So she helps him get rid of her camisole, throwing it behind her where she banished his shirt. Her bra is white with purple polka dots and lacy trim, and God, it makes her breasts look fantastic, so he leaves it in place for now, tracing his tongue along the scalloped edge of the cups until she bucks her hips and moans at the ceiling. She sounds even more winded when he moves his mouth down her flat stomach, where her skin is so pale and smooth that his stubble immediately leaves it pink and flushed. He shoves her skirt down and she aids the effort by kicking it off the end of the bed.

He's seriously starting to wonder why he didn't sleep with her the first damn day he met her.

He flashes his teeth against her hip bone, just above the lacy purple trim of her panties, and she winds her fingers through his hair and starts tugging so hard that it kind of hurts - but in the best possible way. He'd object to the way she's pulling at it, chide her for possible follicle damage, if it wasn't such an enthusiastic endorsement of everything that he's doing to her. And then he's sliding her underwear off, and she's sitting up to undo her bra, and she's completely naked in front of him, spread out across the bed like an all-you-can-eat buffet, and all he can think is, There are a million fucking things I want to do to you.

"Yes," she moans, grabbing at shoulders to pull him against her like she's read his damn mind. "Please."

He kisses her again, and Dr. Strome has to be wrong – there's no choice in this. He has to have her or he will lose his mind. And maybe he finally understands some parts of his ridiculous darkest timeline fantasy too, because right now, he'd cut off his own damn arm to be inside her and it would be worth it.

Sure, it has something to do with this particular woman – because he can't remember feeling this crazed about sex with anyone in a long, long time – but he tells himself that it's mostly because he waited nearly four years for it. The pent-up sexual tension has been like a powder keg ready to go off, and every time Annie moans, circles her hips, bites at his shoulder, it's like she's lit the damn match.

Somehow, she manages to slide his briefs off with her feet, so they're skin on skin from head to toe, which immediately makes it so much hotter than the other night in his car when they couldn't get all their clothes off. He's licking his way across her breasts when he feels her reach out toward her nightstand frantically. At first, he tries to bat her arm away, but then he realizes that she's opening the drawer to pull out a box of condoms – which she very nearly throws at his head. His brain has pretty much short-circuited, but he still gets the hint and sits up to put on a condom.

Since everything the first time seemed to happen in hyper-speed, he's determined to do this slowly, but as he holds himself over her, she wraps her legs around his hips and pulls him inside her with some kind of super human strength – and she might seriously kill him since he can't catch his damn breath because she's so tight and she's moaning so loudly that if Troy and Abed were in the other room, they might actually be deaf.

Hell, the guy downstairs probably is.

"Jeff," she whines, kicking her feet against his ass, and he'd be insulted that she's treating him like a fucking horse if there wasn't something so needy and frantic in her voice. "Please…"

There is no way that he can ever look at her again without hearing her voice call out his name in that desperate, frenzied way. They could run into each other in the frozen food section of the grocery store 20 years from now and he'd still remember the sound perfectly.

He starts to move, and God, she's right there with him, like she's anticipating every shift of hips and knows just how to give it right back. It's fan-fucking-tastic - though part of him almost wishes it wasn't because then, maybe, they could walk away from all of this without much drama.

But it's just as hot as last week in the backseat of his car - hell, even hotter.

He buries his face in the curve of her neck, where her skin is warm and damp, and he's desperate to come but he'd also kind of like to stay inside her forever. She digs her nails into his shoulders and whimpers his name again right beside his ear, so he knows that she's close. He slides his hand between her legs, and he can't remember exactly what it took to get her off the other night so he just wings it, stroking her until she gasps and tightens around him like a vise.

He tries to give her a minute before he starts moving again, trailing his mouth along her shoulder and throat. When he looks up and sees her gazing back at him with a dazed, blissed-out expression, though, he pretty much loses it and he's driving into her with no finesse or rhythm at all. She's making these amazing groaning sounds and squeezing his hips with her knees and he comes with a groan of his own that rattles all the way through his bones.

It takes him a couple of seconds to summon the energy required to get Annie to relax her death grip on him so he can roll off her. They lie side by side for a minute, panting breathlessly in her quiet bedroom. His vision feels a little blurry, and he rubs at his eyes to clear away the haze.

"Wow," Annie says, just like the last time. She giggles again too, and he seriously loves the sound. "I don't even… my legs feel like jelly."

He turns his head and grins at her.

"And I thought the last time was hot," he says. "I'm going to have to seriously reevaluate my scale."

She bobs her head eagerly, like she's willing to make a chart for him or something. He reaches across to grab a tissue so he can get rid of the condom, and her glance darts away as she twists a corner of the sheet between fingers almost nervously.

"Were you…" she starts, lowering her voice even though they're the only people in the room. "I mean… did you think it would be this good?"

"Yeah," he answers automatically. "Well, maybe I didn't think it would this ridiculously hot, but I knew it'd be good."

She smiles, looking extremely pleased, which makes sense because Annie eats up praise the way other women react to diamond bracelets or a pair of Louboutins. She flutters her lashes at him a little, and it's embarrassing how much he likes the feeling that it gives him.

Until out of nowhere, her eyes narrow, her expression hardens, and she smacks his chest – once, twice, and a third time for good measure.

"Hey," he laughs, holding her hand against his chest so she can't continue her assault. "What the hell is that for? The way you were carrying on a couple of minutes ago, you should be throwing me a ticker tape parade right about now."

Her fingers tap against his chest almost impatiently.

"That's for holding out on me," she huffs. "Making me wait so long."

"Don't blame me. If I had my way, we would have done this at the potluck the other night and –"

"I don't mean just since the last time. Four years, Jeff. Four long years."

He laughs at her melodramatic tone.

"So it was all my fault?"

"Ah, yeah," she says slowly, like she's talking to a very small, slow child. "I wasn't the one playing hard to get, Jeff."

If he's honest, it's all true. If he'd made any sort of move, she likely would have responded just as eagerly as she did on the library steps the night of his graduation. That's what made it so hard to resist – she'd been ready and willing for who knows how long.

"So you would have slept with me a year ago?" he teases, and she bobs her head emphatically. "Two years ago?"

She nods again.

"Three years?"

She sighs with all that trademark Annie exasperation.

"I probably would have slept with you a couple of weeks after we met," she declares. "If you'd approached me the right way."

He smiles, lifting up on an elbow to get a better look at her.

"Yeah? And what's the right way to approach you?"

She turns on her side too, so they're face to face again and tilts her head coyly.

"Well… you'd talk in that low, serious voice that you save for really important conversations." She reaches up to run her fingers along his jaw. "And you probably wouldn't have shaved for a couple of days and … you'd just take charge."

He leans in to nuzzle along her jaw.

"Doesn't sound too hard," he murmurs against her ear. "I'll have to keep that in mind. You know, for the next time I want to talk you into something…"

He's grinning as he kisses her and she is too, so they wind up laughing into one another's mouths. She starts to pull away and somehow manages to slip out of his grasp, scooting to the far side of the bed.

"I'll be right back," she announces.

He watches as she slips on a little pink and purple plaid robe, unlatches the door and disappears into the dark apartment. Even though he played hero the other night and fixed her window, Annie's bedroom is a little cool so he pulls the sheets over him. Somehow, there's something even more surreal about lying naked in her bed, under her bright floral bedspread, than there is about actually having sex with her, which is obviously ridiculous. He looks around her room, at her army of stuffed animals and ridiculous Zac Efron poster, and wonders again how any of this can possibly work out without it all coming down on their heads like a ton of bricks.

But then she's bouncing back into the room with his jacket draped over her arm and a bottle of beer in each hand. She hands him one, since his first, neglected bottle has long gone flat and is sweating rings on her nightstand. He takes a sip of his fresh beer, nodding toward his jacket questioningly.

"In case Troy and Abed get back early," she explains, laying it over the back of her desk chair. "The good news is they should still be gone for…" She grabs her cellphone from the desk to check the time. "A couple more hours. The movie's almost two hours and it's a 20 minute drive back and they usually like to stop at this diner on Grand Street for meatloaf sandwiches and strawberry milkshakes after they see a movie, which probably means another hour."

"What's the big deal?" he asks, as she stretches out at the foot of the bed with her own beer, her feet pressing into his thigh over the sheet. "Can't I just get dressed and act like we were hanging out, watching a movie or something?"

"Jeff," she sighs. "You told Abed you had a date."

He shrugs, running his thumb along the sole of her foot and making her wriggle a bit.

"That's not exactly what I said. He assumed."

"He was all curious about it, too," Annie says. "He wanted me to help him come up with a list of potential romantic interests for you."

He grins, sliding his hand up her leg to rest at her thigh just beneath the hem of her robe.

"Got any good candidates?"

She kicks at his stomach lightly.

"But, you know," he drawls, shifting forward in the bed and wrapping his hand around her thigh to tug her closer. "As interesting as all that is, the only information that really stands out is that your nosy roommates aren't going to be home for another couple of hours."

She nods, smiling coyly and flushing just a bit. He grabs the belt on her robe and pulls it loose, so the halves fall open to reveal her pale, flawless skin.

"So we shouldn't waste any more time," he says, crawling over her. "I don't want be accused of making you wait again."


	4. All Those Glances That We Stole

All standard disclaimers apply.

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who's reading along. I've got the whole story outlined and know where I want to end up - it's just a matter of connecting all the dots.

* * *

His track record has proven it time and time again, so it's hardly a surprise at this point, but he still likes it when the fact is confirmed.

He is always right.

This time, though, he actually feels a little bad about it.

Just over a week and a half ago, he told Annie that they wouldn't be able to spend any time alone together without having sex, and, as expected, he's been 100 percent right. It's been physically impossible to keep their hands off each other – every time he looks at her, he's mentally calculating how long it will take to get her out of her clothes, and every time she looks at him, he's pretty sure that she's coming up with new and ingenious ways to make him come in record time.

The only real problem has been finding time alone.

Troy and Abed are always camped out at her apartment, though the hour that it took the guys to wait in line for some DVD release or another certainly didn't go to waste since Annie spent most of it riding him into oblivion in one of their recliners while a hockey game silently played on the television in front of him. He's also been hesitant to invite her over to his place because they'd have to deal with the whole issue of whether she'd stay over or not, but that didn't stop him from going down on her against his apartment door the other evening when she stopped by to borrow a book for her Forensic Science and Criminal Law class. And the other night, when he drove her home after they had dinner with Britta, he pulled the car over on a dead end street near her building so they could make a return trip to his backseat.

Fortunately, they're both pretty opportunistic.

But while the sex has been nothing but phenomenal, there's this annoying, little part of him that sounds suspiciously like that fucking cricket from the Disney cartoons that feels guilty about the whole thing – he doesn't want Annie to think that they're not friends anymore just because they're having seriously hot sex.

So after he finishes up a job interview right near Greendale, he calls and asks if she wants to meet for coffee.

He offers to come to campus because it's easier for her, but if he's honest, he kind of misses the damn place - or maybe he just misses his friends. His friendship with Annie takes priority because he's risking it every time they sleep together, but he probably needs to make an effort with the rest of the group too since school isn't there to make it easy for them to stay connected anymore.

But God, does he hate making an effort at anything.

And the whole effort thing doesn't even take into account how sex with Annie might affect his relationship with the rest of the group. They haven't had any conversations about keeping the change in their relationship from their friends, but they both seem to agree that it's best to keep things under wraps – particularly since they don't even know exactly what it is that they're doing together.

Well, he doesn't anyway.

Maybe Annie does, but he's kind of afraid to ask.

Right now, he'll focus on making sure that she doesn't think their relationship is about nothing but sex and worry about all that complicated, messy stuff later.

In other words, only when he absolutely has to.

As he parks his car at Greendale, he realizes that he's making this way too easy on himself – of course, they can't have sex now. They're meeting in a very public place where they can't even touch hands without rousing the suspicions of their friends and countless acquaintances.

It's the easy way out for sure.

Annie's waiting near the cafeteria entrance when he gets there, with her nose planted firmly in a book so he has the opportunity to check her out unobserved for a minute. She's wearing a purple dress with a zipper right down the center that's the only thing keeping him from lots of naked skin and a little black cardigan with flowers embroidered near the shoulders. It's crazy, but she's somehow hotter now that he's sleeping with her – the bloom usually comes off the rose pretty quickly for him once the conquest has been made, but damn, he somehow wants her more every time he sees her these days.

When he's just a few feet away, she finally looks up, closing her book with a smile. She gives him and his suit a seriously intense onceover that makes him think it wouldn't be that hard to convince her to forgo coffee and sneak off to her apartment for a quickie or two before her next class.

"You look very handsome," she says, toying with the end of his tie – which she drops suddenly, as if she realizes how the gesture might look. "How did the interview go?"

"Pretty well," he tells her, which is mostly true. The fact is, he still has to retake the bar exam and since he missed the application deadline for the February test, he's stuck waiting until July. There are plenty of licensed attorneys out there in the job market to make his resume seem a little less than impressive, so job hunting hasn't been quite as easy as he expected. "I am staggeringly charming, you know."

She tilts her head like she's appraising him carefully.

"You can talk your way into a lot," she agrees.

"Can I talk you into letting me buy you some coffee?"

"How about an herbal tea?" she says. "I'm trying to cut back on caffeine."

He laughs as they head toward the coffee line.

"Good luck with that. You study about 20 hours out of the day. How do you expect to keep up that pace without an IV drip of caffeine coursing through your veins?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm naturally energetic," she says haughtily.

He grins down at her.

"You don't say?"

"I think maybe it's a good thing if I cut back on caffeine so I'm not quite so…"

She makes circles with her hand as she searches for the right word.

"High strung?" he supplies helpfully.

She smacks his arm, but she's smiling as she does it. Of course, she makes him order her Country Peach Passion tea, though, which he assumes is supposed to be some kind of punishment. But the joke's on her since he loves the way that her eyes go all hooded and sultry when he draws out the word 'passion.' They find a table in an empty section of the cafeteria and sit with their steaming paper cups between them. Annie seems to have gotten shy all of a sudden, her gaze darting around the room like she can't seem to look him in the eye. For his part, he can't stop staring at her smart, tempting mouth.

This was a really bad idea, he thinks. He's going to snap any second and leap across the table to kiss her senseless if he doesn't find some way to get this thing back into friendly territory in a hurry. Annie looks up at him, and her soft, tentative smile is enough to get him in gear.

"So have you-"

"Did you—"

They blink in unison, like they're both hopelessly confused, and then share a nervous laugh. Okay, so neither of them has quite adjusted to the shift in their relationship – at least, they're together in that.

"Sorry," Annie says after a moment. "Go ahead."

"I was just gonna ask how your classes are going," he says, feeling like an ass.

He's starting to realize that trying to separate their relationship into a friend part and a sex part isn't going to work. They can't make small talk over coffee and pretend that they didn't have sex the night before – it's ridiculous.

Annie lifts her shoulders in a carefree shrug.

"Fine. Good."

He nods, fiddling with the lid on his coffee cup.

"Is it strange for you?" she asks, and he looks at her, panicked. She can't seriously think they're going to talk about their relationship here, can she? "Being back, I mean?"

He lets out a strangled laugh – owning up to missing Greendale is much easier that confessing that this girl has completely knocked him off his game.

"I guess," he admits. "But it's only been a few weeks. I don't think it's really sunken in that I'm done with this place yet."

She nods thoughtfully, and he doesn't think that he's ever had a woman listen to him the way that Annie does – which unnerves him a little. He isn't ready for anyone to know him quite as well as she seems to want to.

"It's so strange to sit at the table in the study room without you there," she whispers, leaning in so he can hear her. "I keep expecting you to walk through the door any minute."

He grins, bobbing his head knowingly.

"I had you pegged as the one who'd miss me the most," he teases in a low, deep voice.

She flushes, and he knows now that when she does, it goes all the way down to the tops of her breasts – which only makes the look work for her even more. She raises her eyes after a moment, though, meeting his gaze almost challengingly.

"You really went out on a limb with that guess."

He shrugs.

"Yeah, I guess it's not really fair. I mean, you did tell me that I'm your favorite." He taps his foot against the toe of her shoe beneath the table. "And that was before I ever made you come."

She gasps, looking around to see if anyone's overheard.

"Jeff!"

"Annie!" he parrots back.

She has a decidedly scandalized look, with her wide eyes and the perfect, round "O" shape of her mouth, but there's something almost pleased about her expression too. She cocks her head, like she's thinking very carefully, and he starts to feel a little warm.

"This doesn't have to be hard," she tells him, like it's something she's just decided on. "It doesn't have to feel weird or anything. I mean, we're still us, right? Except now we just know each other a little better."

She smiles as she says the last part, and he can't help but laugh.

"I'll say."

He feels the tip of her shoe nudge against his leg just below the hem of his pants – it's the most she can get away with here without causing a scene so he sinks down a little in the booth to let her get a little further because some touching is better than no touching at all.

"So this is why you've been ignoring my texts."

They look up together to find Shirley smiling down at them. He hurriedly straightens himself in his seat, and Annie follows suit, sitting so ramrod straight that her entire body radiates stiffness.

"Jeff!" Shirley is sing-songing now. "It's so good to see you!"

They haven't seen one another since the potluck so he stands to let her hug him. Annie fiddles with her tea, tapping it against the table like she can't quite keep her hands still.

"So what are you doing here?" Shirley asks as she slides into the booth beside Annie.

"I was in the neighborhood," he says, as casually as he can manage. "So I called Annie to see if she wanted to grab a coffee. It was a spur of the moment thing."

"That's nice," Shirley says, with an animated smile. "But you could have called me too. We all miss you, you know."

"I have a book I have to return to him," Annie says quickly. "That's the only reason he wanted to see me."

He shrugs.

"It is a good book."

Annie offers up a tight smile, while Shirley nods absently. Annie's eyes fly around the room then, like she's searching for an escape route, and she couldn't look any guiltier if she tried. He'd laugh if that wouldn't blow their cover any more.

"All right," Shirley says, after a minute of awkward silence. "What's wrong? What're you two fighting about now?"

Their eyes find one another across the table, and in an instant, he's just as panicked as Annie is. He struggles to come up with some way to diffuse the situation, but it's like his mouth can't catch up with his brain.

"We're not fighting about anything," Annie declares emphatically. "Why would you say that?"

Shirley raises an eyebrow, wearing her 'don't bullshit me' expression with pride.

"Because the tension at this table is so thick, I could cut it up and serve it on one of my sandwiches."

Annie let out a high-pitched laugh, sounding almost hysterical.

"That's just… I mean, why would… we're not-"

"It's probably just me," Jeff says, finally getting control of himself. "It's a little weird being back here, you know?"

Shirley's expression softens in an instant, and she reaches out to pat his hand.

"Oh, of course. No need to say any more."

"I have to get to a meeting with my English professor," Annie says, gathering up her books. "If you want to come with me to my locker, Jeff, I can get your book."

"Yeah. Sure. Great." He follows her out of the booth. "It was good to see you, Shirley."

"You too. Next time, don't forget to invite me to your coffee clutch. I wanna catch up with you too."

When he and Annie are out of Shirley's sight, he reaches out and squeezes her neck in a half hearted massage.

"You need to get less tense," he teases. "The whole point of having sex is to get rid of the sexual tension."

She blushes again, staring up at him accusingly.

"It's not my fault! You're the one who's supposed to be an expert at lying and secret sex and talking your way out of things."

"And isn't that what I did? Talked our way out of it?" he asks. "I had Shirley eating out of the palm of my hand."

She frowns, like she can't quite disagree but still isn't happy with him. He bumps his shoulder against hers.

"I've got it," he says, snapping his fingers. "Let's go do it in my car right now. That'll get rid of any lingering tension that anyone else we know might pick up on if we happen to run into them."

She smacks his arm, wearing a haughty, outraged expression.

"Don't act like you're so above it," he says with a smile. "It's been twice now. That's practically a pattern of behavior right there."

She glares at him again, but there's something hungry and wanton in her eyes.

"It wouldn't help anyway," she sighs. "Every time we do it, it only seems to make the tension worse."

He grins, and even he can admit that he's way too smug for his own good right now.

"It does, doesn't it?" He shrugs casually. "So I guess we'll just be caught in an endless cycle of having sex and then immediately needing to have it again. So… your place or mine?"

He's teasing, but she's looking up at him with a calculating smile that sends all the blood rushing straight to his dick.

"Actually, Abed and Troy have a late class tonight," she nearly purrs. "They won't be home until 8."

"Really?" he says, playing it as cool as it can. "And what time do you get home?

"Around 4."

"Okay. So I'll see you at 4:01 then?"

The blinding smile that she gives him makes admitting how desperate he is to touch her again more than worth it.

"Bring food," she tells him. "I haven't had time to go shopping and I'll be starving by then."

"You are so freaking bossy," he says, as she starts to walk backward toward her locker. "You're lucky you're so good in bed."

She giggles and gives him a little wave just as she turns the corner.

He checks his watch as he heads back toward the parking lot.

They spent 22 minutes together without having sex.

Even if it was in a noisy cafeteria, under Shirley's watchful eye.

That's got to count for something.

Well, it's a start anyway.


	5. All Those Bonnies, All Those Clydes

All standard disclaimers apply.

Definite M-rating for this chapter.

* * *

He barely has a chance to knock before Troy throws the door open in a huff.

The kid's wearing a pretty pissed off frown and a loose tie around his neck, so there's definitely a sense of something ominous in the air.

"Sorry," he practically shouts, sounding more than a little defensive. "We're running a little late."

He stomps off into the apartment, leaving Jeff to close the door behind himself. He has no idea what little drama he's stumbled upon, but he can feel a nagging headache already working its way up from the base of his skull.

As usual, Abed is front of the TV, dressed in a jacket and khakis, but slouched so comfortably in the recliner that he doesn't look like he's anywhere near ready to leave. Annie is nowhere to be found, but Jeff can hear water running in the bathroom so he assumes that she's in the shower.

"Running late?" he repeats because, really, he's going to need a better explanation than that.

Abed nods absently.

"Troy took apart all the pipes in the shower, so when Annie got back from her run and wanted a shower, she had to stand around for almost an hour, all sweaty and gross – her words, not mine – while he fixed it. She only got in there a few minutes ago."

"I was just curious," Troy yells from the kitchen. "You know, to see if I could do it and everything."

Jeff sighs, shaking his head in annoyance.

"See, this is why I wanted to meet at the restaurant. It would have been so much easier."

He leaves the "for me" unspoken because it goes without saying.

"I like it better when we ride together," says Abed. "More opportunities for wacky hijinks."

"Abed, I think making it to Shirley's birthday dinner on time is more important than wacky hijinks."

They all know how much she's been looking forward tonight, dinner at nice restaurant with (sort of) adults – "God knows I love my kids, but I'm sick to death of eating in places with plastic menus and crayons on the table. I need a grown up evening out!" – so showing up late seems pretty crappy.

But Abed just shrugs, looking unaffected.

"Shirley's late a lot," he points out. "We'll probably all make it there at the same time."

Jeff shakes his head as the faucet turns on in the kitchen and Troy starts humming some unrecognizable tune. He's not sure why he's so concerned about making it to the restaurant on time when no one else seems to be, so he leans back against one of the bar stools to sit out the wait.

There's a shrill shriek from the bathroom then, something that sounds like a cross between someone suffering a mortal wound and a cat having its tail stepped on, and the door bangs open with a loud thud. Annie peeks around the hallway wall, dripping hair falling across her red face. He can see the edge of a pink towel just above her breasts and he finds himself fervently wishing for telekinetic powers so he could send the towel flying across the room. He hasn't seen Annie in a couple of days and he's more than a little horny – sue me, he thinks to himself.

"Who turned on the water?" she demands, sounding pretty damn formidable. "It's freezing in here!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Troy yells from the kitchen, and the water snaps off instantly. "I totally forgot you were in there."

"You forgot I was in here? After I had to wait an entire hour, you forgot that…"

She spots Jeff then, and her expression softens just a bit.

"Hi," she says, sounding a little shy.

"Running later, I hear."

She makes a pouty, outraged face, and there's something seriously wrong with him because he desperately wants to kiss her.

"It's not my fault. I swear."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Troy grouses, coming in from the kitchen. "It's all my fault. I heard you the first hundred times."

Somewhere in the background, a phone chirps and Abed springs up in his recliner, but Jeff's too busy tracking the drop of water that's slowly easing its way across Annie's collarbone to pay much attention – until Abed stands and taps his phone emphatically.

"Britta's car broke down near campus," he says. "Gotta go pick her up."

"Shouldn't we just wait for Annie and all go together?" Jeff asks.

She's still standing in the hallway in front of the bathroom, half hidden by the wall, but now that Abed and Troy are both looking right at him, he's trying his hardest not to stare at the tempting glimpse of her bare, glistening shoulders every time she fidgets.

"We'll save time if Troy and I go get Britta while Annie finishes getting ready," Abed says. "And time is of the essence, right?"

"Fine," Annie agrees, turning back toward the bathroom. "I'll try to hurry."

Troy grabs his jacket from the back of a chair and follows after Abed.

"Road trip!"

When the guys are gone, Jeff turns around the empty apartment, wondering what the hell he's supposed to do to kill time. If someone had just picked up the phone and told him that they were running late, he could have taken his time getting ready. He paces for a minute, making it all the way to the entryway before he notices that the bathroom door is slightly ajar. He stares at it, like it's some kind of puzzle to be figured out. It's got to be an invitation, but still he hesitates. He tries to calculate how long the guys will be gone – if they wait with Britta for a tow truck to show up, that probably means at least 30 minutes.

What the hell, he thinks.

He's greeted with a wall of steam when he pushes the door open all the way – apparently, Annie likes her showers just shy of boiling. The shower curtain is a flimsy blue sheet, so while he can't actually see her, the shadow of her body through it is enough to get him going.

"Jeff?"

He laughs as he closes the door behind him.

"Were you expecting someone else?" he teases. "Do Troy and Abed make a habit of visiting you while you're in the shower?"

"No," she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. "But I don't leave the door open for them."

He sits down on the closed toilet lid, and she pokes her head out from behind the curtain, clutching the plastic to her chest. Her face and chest are pink from the heat, and he'd like nothing more than to lick every droplet of water from her body.

"I'm really sorry," she tells him. "I planned everything so I'd be ready on time, but I didn't account for roommate-related insanity."

He shrugs.

"No big deal." He glances at his reflection in the mirror over the vanity. "But I probably would have spent an extra five minutes on my hair if I'd known I had the time."

She grins, her grip loosening on the curtain so he can see the tempting curve of her breast.

"It's perfect," she says.

"It could have been more perfect, though."

She cocks her head, looking dubious, and ducks back behind the curtain.

"Oh!" she says suddenly. "I got good news today. Someone dropped out of that criminology class that I've been dying to get into so I got the last spot. Isn't that awesome?"

He makes a humming noise of agreement, not sure what else to do. She's trying to have a normal conversation with him while she's on the other side of a thin sheet of plastic, all naked and wet – speech is a little beyond his capabilities at the moment. He sees her reach beside the shower faucet for a blue mesh sponge and then her toes appear on the edge of the tub and he knows that she's running it up her leg, over all her creamy, vanilla skin.

She's going to be the fucking death of him.

That fact seems more and more certain with every passing day.

He watches through the curtain as she steps under the shower's spray again, tilting her head back so the water can fall over her, and he almost wishes that he offered to go get Britta because this is fucking torture. The water turns off then, and her head reappears from behind the curtain.

"Could you hand me my towel?" she asks sweetly, gesturing toward the plush pink cotton thrown across the vanity.

It would be fun to make her get out of the shower and get it herself, but that's not the game that she seems to want to play. So he stands and passes her the towel with a polite smile. It's large, so when she steps out of the tub, she's covered from her chest to past her knees in all the pink. Still, there's no getting around the fact that she's naked under it, and when she looks up at him from beneath lowered lashes, it certainly doesn't seem all that innocent.

"Why exactly did you invite me in here?" he asks, amused.

She smiles slyly.

"I don't remember inviting you."

He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So you left the door open because…?"

She lifts her shoulders casually, like none of this is a big deal.

"I wanted to see what would happen," she purrs.

He pushes away from the vanity, and she takes a step toward him, and he's kissing her like he's wanted to since he first saw her dripping wet in the hallway. She wraps her arms around his neck and he easily lifts her off her feet so they're crushed together in the humid bathroom. Her towel comes loose between them and drops to the floor like an afterthought, so when he grabs at her ass to help her wrap her legs around his waist, he gets a handful of bare skin. He kisses his way down her throat, shifting her higher in his arms so he can reach her breasts.

"Oh, God," he moans against her skin. "Why do you smell like a fucking Hershey Bar?"

"It's my body wash," she says breathlessly. "Cocoa butter."

"You only have yourself to blame if I take a bite."

To prove his point, he nips at her shoulder and she moans, her head lolling to the side to give him better access. He spins around, so he can sit her on the edge of the vanity, which doesn't really put them at the right height but he'll crouch down if he has to – the incentive is too strong not to make this work.

"Told you so," he whispers against her lips. "Any scenario with you and I alone together these days… sex."

She giggles, her hands slipping beneath his jacket to knead the muscles in his back.

"Is there time?"

"That sounds like a challenge," he growls.

But there really isn't much time, so he doesn't bother trying to take off his clothes. He lets her undo his fly while he keeps on kissing her and palming her breasts. Her skin is still damp so he bends to lick some of the water away - she smells like chocolate and he's starving so he can't be blamed for devouring her. He dips his fingers between her thighs, and she's already so wet (did showering with him on the other side of that useless plastic curtain turn her on as much as watching her did him?) that he finds himself thrusting into her hand with embarrassing urgency when she takes him out of his pants.

"Condom?" he groans.

"My drawer's the bottom one," she tells him distractedly as she pumps her hand over him a few times - which feels so good that he has to press his face to the curve of her neck and just enjoy it for a second.

She tries to stretch and open the drawer with her foot when she realizes that he's not moving, but she's too short and can't quite maneuver. He moves her hand away from his erection and kneels down to find the condoms. She taps her toes impatiently against his shoulders and he knows that his suit is going to be a rumpled mess by the time they actually make it to the restaurant. He snags a condom among the mess of face masks, body creams, and cotton balls, but on his way back up, he's distracted by the velvety whiteness of her spread thighs and he stops to run his tongue along the soft, smooth skin. She smells amazing too, and he has to have a taste so he licks at her until she's squirming against the sink.

"No," she moans, tugging at his hair to pull him back up. "We don't have time for that…"

He'd like to argue, but she's probably right so he puts the condom on and slides into her as quickly as he can manage. She makes the sexy, little gasping sound that she always does when he's all the way inside and he waits for a second, trying to get his breathing back under control.

"Don't be fancy," she commands, her hands grabbing at his hips to try to get him to move. "Just…"

"Fuck you?" he says with a grin.

Her eyes slip shut and her head falls back against the mirror.

"Oh, God. Yes."

He winds one arm around her waist and braces the other against the wall to give himself some leverage. Because he's otherwise occupied, Annie moves one of her hands from his hips to between her thighs, which is so fucking sexy because he's always liked a woman who can take care of herself - and every time he slides in and out, her fingertips brush against his dick so he sees nothing but white-hot stars when his eyes slip shut. The fingers on her other hand dig into his hip almost painfully and then she tightens around him, knocking a tube of toothpaste and bottle of hand soap off the vanity as she trembles through an orgasm that catches them both a little off-guard.

He wants to draw it out a bit, but he figures they've only got 15 minutes before Tory, Abed and Britta are back and Annie still has to get dressed, so he doesn't have the luxury. She squeezes her knees around his hips to urge him on and he comes, moaning against her throat.

He makes a mental note to not go two days without seeing her again.

"Was that no-frills enough for you?" he jokes as they separate.

She smiles, smacking at his chest as she hops down from the vanity.

"You have to be a show-off even when we have no time."

"That wasn't me showing off," he asserts as he cleans himself up. "You know I can do much better than that."

She grabs his arm to tug him down to her mouth so she can kiss him.

"You don't hear me complaining, do you?" she whispers against his lips.

He doesn't think he should tell her that she's easier to please than most women – and not just sexually. Knowing Annie, she'd see some kind of insult in that - like she's just so simple and easy-going that any little thing makes her happy - when that's not how he intends it at all. Because truth be told, she is annoyingly complicated and high-strung and demanding in virtually every aspect of her life. There's just something about her lately, when they're together anyway, that seems so carefree and relaxed.

He's actually afraid to mention it for fear that it might break the spell.

She darts away from him and busies herself picking up the toiletries that litter the floor, while he tries to smooth the wrinkles out of his jacket and tie. He spots a damp, roundish splotch on the pale blue cotton of his shirt just beside the buttons and taps Annie's shoulder to show her.

"This is totally your boob print," he laughs.

She opens her mouth in outrage, batting his tie out of the way to get a better look.

"It's just a blob, Jeff."

"I'll bet you a hundred bucks Troy knows exactly what this is when he comes through the door. Maybe Abed too."

She crosses her arms over her bare breasts like she's trying to protect them against false accusations.

"Then it's a good thing you keep a spare shirt in our hall closet," she says primly.

She picks her towel up from the floor and wraps it around herself again as she heads for the door.

"Now you're modest?" he needles as he follows after her.

"If they get back and I'm naked, I think they'll know what we did while they were gone."

"If they get back and find us leaving the bathroom together with your boob print on my shirt, they'll know too."

She stops in the hallway to turn and glare at him.

"Stop saying 'boob print,'" she hisses.

He laughs and toys with the knot that's holding her towel closed.

"Don't you have a robe? Seems pretty cruel to Troy and Abed if you're constantly parading to and from the bathroom in just a towel."

Annie shoves at his shoulder so he bumps into the wall.

"I was in a hurry, Jeff. Stop being a jerk."

He laughs again, but she huffs indignantly before hurrying off to her room. He makes a detour to the hall closet, removing his tie and unbuttoning his wet shirt as he goes. The spare in the closet is a deep cobalt shade and as he holds it up against his gray suit and tie, he thinks maybe it's a better match that the pale blue he started with anyway. He's tugging the wet shirt out of his waistband when he looks down at the front of his pants and sees a few more watermarks.

Sorry, Shirley, he thinks ruefully. I really wanted to look GQ-worthy for your birthday, but sex takes precedence.

Annie's slipped into a lacy black bra and matching panties and is moving hangers around in her closet when he gets to her room.

"Where's your blow dryer?" he asks, showing off the crotch and thighs of his pants. "You dripped on me."

She gapes at him in horror.

"Is that…?"

He smiles as he lays his fresh shirt on her bed and finishes undoing the old one.

"Relax. It's just water."

She digs her dryer out of a drawer and plugs it in for him at her desk. He dumps his jacket, tie and wet shirt on the bed too and sits down to dry his pants. It occurs to him that if their friends were to return at this minute, they'd find them in a pretty compromising position - not quite as compromising as the position they were in five minutes ago, but pretty damn close. He's shirtless, Annie's in her lacy underwear, and neither of them is the least bit uncomfortable.

Clearly, some funny business is going on here.

Annie comes over to grab a bottle of her perfume, and he watches as she spritzes some into the air in front of her and walks into the mist. He notices an angry, red mark on her lower back, just above the waistband of her panties, probably from where the faucet dug into her skin while he pounded her against the sink, as she's twirling around in the haze of perfume.

"Did a number on your back," he says, over the whirring of the dryer.

He reaches out to stroke the skin softly, and she cranes her head over her shoulder to try to catch a glimpse.

"Really?" she says. "I don't … It doesn't hurt."

She shrugs and heads back toward the closet. He's struck by how tiny she is in her bare feet and skimpy underwear. Everything about her, from her ridiculous energy to the sheer force of her will, makes her seem larger than life most of the time, so he forgets how fragile and breakable she actually is. It would be so easy to hurt, he thinks.

Correction - it is easy to hurt her.

He forces his attention back to the task at hand and finishes up with his pants, flipping off the noisy dryer. As he's changing his shirt, he turns to watch Annie as she steps into a little blue dress – there is something seriously erotic about watching her dress, which seems crazy because he had her completely naked on the bathroom counter just a little while ago.

When she turns to look at him over her shoulder with her impossibly wide, blue eyes, he gets an uncomfortably tight feeling in his stomach.

"Zip me?" she says with a smile.

He steps up behind her, placing one hand flat on her back to hold the zipper in place and using the other to slowly tug it up from the base of her spine. At the restaurant, while they're eating expensive steak and toasting Shirley's birthday, he's going to be thinking of nothing but her smooth skin beneath the gauzy material of this dress. He knows that.

She still has to dry her hair and do her makeup, so he makes himself comfortable on her bed and plays around on his phone. Annie hums as she does all her girly stuff, so he keeps looking up at her, catching glimpses of her as she sprays something into her damp hair, coats her fluttery lashes in mascara, and slicks some rosy gloss on her lips, which totally fucks up his Gem Miner score.

She's almost done when they hear the outer door open and their friends chatter loudly about something inevitably stupid. He grins at her across the room because they're about to get away with having a hell of quickie while their friends played taxi. There's a knock at her door and Abed sticks his head inside, looking first at Jeff sprawled out on the bed and then at Annie in her chair, combing her hair.

"You guys ready?" he asks.

"Am _I_ ready? I've been ready the entire time," Jeff says briskly as he stands up and jerks his thumb toward Annie. "You know how bored I've been waiting for this one to get ready?"

She makes a mewling sound of outrage, and he winks at her behind Abed's back.

"I'm ready," she says emphatically, grabbing her purse from the desk.

When she comes to stand beside Jeff, Abed looks at them curiously. He can feel Annie panicking next to him, her posture way too rigid to look natural, and he gets a little nervous himself – Abed has eagle eyes after all.

They wait for him to blow them right out of the water.

"You guys match," is all he says, though, gesturing between Jeff's cobalt shirt and Annie's blue dress.

They let out a nervous laugh.

"Would you look at that?"

"And we didn't even plan it!"

Abed eyes them suspiciously for a moment, like he's trying to figure out exactly what's going on. But he seems to lose interest, shrugging and nodding toward the door.

"We should go," he says. "Shirley's all alone with Pierce at the restaurant."

When they're following their friends down the stairs, Annie elbows him in the ribs.

"Bored?" she whispers through clenched teeth. "Really, Jeff?"

"I had to throw Abed off," he says with a smile.

She huffs, adjusting the collar of her coat as they reach the street.

"Oh, don't be mad," he cajoles. "You know you had my undivided attention."

Annie smiles now, tilting her head coyly.

"I still think you should make it up to me."

"Agreed," he tells her. "The first chance we get alone, I'll—"

"What are you two whispering about back here?" Britta says, coming to step in between them just as Jeff's car comes into sight.

"Jeff's just apologizing for rushing me while I was getting ready," Annie declares. "He's always in such a hurry."

She smirks up at him and loops her arm through Britta's as they head for the car.

He shakes his head as he thumbs open the locks on his car, but all he's really thinking is that she's more fun than he ever imagined.


	6. New Worlds for the Weary

All standard disclaimers apply.

M-rating for this chapter.

A/N: Thanks again to everyone reading along. I apologize for the delay with the update, but the holidays have been crazy around here.

* * *

He doesn't do self-pity or suffer crises of self-confidence.

He never doubts himself.

Ever.

Even when he got caught with a fake Bachelor's degree and was disbarred.

Even when he wound up at Greendale with all the other misfits.

He never doubted that he'd come out on the other side just as bright and shiny as before.

That's probably why he feels so out of his depth right now.

This sense of defeat, of depression and hopelessness, is so foreign to him that he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Booze seemed like the obvious answer, but he probably should have gone to the trouble of hitting up a bar where contact with other people would keep him from sinking too deep into his mood because sitting alone in his dark apartment with a half empty bottle of Scotch, listening to Warren Zevon singing about being an accidental martyr on repeat, is a level of pathetic that he's not comfortable with at all.

Over the past month, he's gone on no less than 20 interviews at law firms both large and small, and no matter how well the interviews seem to go – and they always seem to go well because let's face it, he is as good at selling himself as he is at anything in his life – they're always followed up by a polite voicemail, letter, or e-mail, explaining that it was a pleasure to meet him but at this point in time, they've decided to go in a different direction.

Probably toward someone who didn't fake a degree, has legitimately passed the Bar, and isn't surrounded by a cloud of scandal and disgrace that lingers like cheap cologne.

He is seriously starting to consider the possibility that he might never get his old life back, and that thought leaves him feeling terrified, shaky, totally fucked.

Which is probably why he winds up doing something as embarrassing and stupid as calling Annie up at nearly 11 pm on a Thursday to invite her over.

It's the first time that he's extending an invitation like this – as much as he loves sleeping with her, he's liked having his apartment as a safe haven, where he doesn't have to deal with questions about whether she'll stay over and if they should cuddle and all the crap that usually comes with a full-fledged relationship – and he kind of hates himself for doing it under circumstances like this.

But he's feeling so fucking bad about himself that he can't really stand being alone anymore, and he doesn't want to think about the shambles that his career is in for another minute, and since the night of his graduation, Annie has proven that she's seriously good at distracting him - so a night with her likely means that he gets to forget everything that's crappy in his life for a few hours at least.

She agrees to come without any real coaxing, which he isn't expecting, but then he remembers that she doesn't have classes on Friday so it's not like he's luring her out on a school night – which sounds just as pervy in his head as if he'd said it out loud.

He cleans up the Scotch and his dirty glass and turns off his iPod while he's waiting for her because he doesn't want her to think that he's about to fly off the deep end. She may not realize it, but Annie can be just as protective as he can when she thinks he's in trouble and he'd like to avoid unintentionally sending her off on some kind of mission on his behalf if he can help it.

Unfortunately, he gets the feeling that she knows something is off because she's got a particularly brave face on when she shows up on his doorstep, all bright eyes and big smile. She's wearing navy yoga pants and a purple hoodie under her coat, and her hair's in a swingy ponytail so she was probably about to go to sleep when he called.

"I told Troy and Abed that I was sneaking into the library to do some research for a paper," she says as he takes her coat. "Next time, I should just shimmy down the fire escape, though, because I'm terrible at coming up with cover stories. And Abed looks right through you like he knows every terrible thing you've ever done in your entire life. I mean, I don't think he assumed I was running off to have sex dressed like this, but…"

"What's wrong with the way you're dressed?" he asks, stepping close so he can pull down the zipper on her hoodie. Underneath, she's wearing a thin, white tank top and he can tell immediately that there's no bra beneath it. "I like it."

She flushes, and there's a hint of disbelief and pleasure in her breathy sigh. Her hands curl over his shoulders as he leans down to kiss her, and as pathetic as it may have been to call her, it's also a brilliant idea because the heat of her mouth on his and the lush curves of her body against his palms make it impossible to think of anything else.

She pulls back after a moment, stroking her fingers along his jaw, but he keeps his eyes closed because he's afraid of what he might see in her expression. Her thumb traces along his lower lip, and his tongue darts out to taste her warm skin.

"Bad day?" she asks softly, and he figures that she must taste the Scotch on him – or he's just so far gone that everything about him radiates a kind of desperateness that makes it impossible not to guess at his mood.

"Bad week," he mutters, pushing the hoodie off her shoulders. "Bad month even."

He cups her shoulders in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her collarbones. Her eyes flutter closed for a minute, her head tilting back and her mouth parting around a shaky breath. There's something so hot about being with a woman as unguarded as Annie is – he always knows exactly how good he's making her feel and how much she wants to be with him – but when she opens her eyes now, he sees all her worry and fear shimmering there like tears.

It's hardly a surprise – because Annie is a fixer. Unlike him, she cares enough to always make an effort, to always reach out to the people who matter to her. He told her once that she was just as selfish as he is, and he still thinks that there are parts of her that are, but there's a generosity at the heart of her that awes and terrifies him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, running her hands up and down his back slowly so her fingers can knead every tight muscle.

He laughs darkly and shakes his head. When has he, in all the time that she's known him, ever wanted to talk about his feelings? But she's looking up at him with her wide, steady eyes and honesty spills out of him, even if it's not about his shitty mood.

"I want *you*," he whispers, leaning in to kiss her again.

She moans into his mouth and wraps her arms around his neck so she can boost herself up against him, her legs wrapping around his waist – and Fuck, if this is wrong, if this was ever wrong, why does she react to him the way she does, like no one has ever touched her in quite the same way, like no one ever will?

He hasn't had her in his bed yet (because he's pretty sure that once he does, he won't be able to lie there and not think of her tangled up in his sheets) - actually, he doesn't know if she's ever even been in his bedroom at all, but he carries her there blindly, refusing to tear his mouth from her skin. He slams into the door jamb as they stumbles in, and his shoulder throbs with pain as he sets her on the mattress. She toes off her tennis shoes and scoots backward until she's lying back against the pillows. He hasn't turned on the lights so the room is full of shadows, but he already knows that she looks better than any dream he's ever had of her.

She watches as he strips off his shirt and jeans, just waiting for him to come to her, and he realizes that she's going to let him completely run the show tonight. And as badly as he wants to forget the mess that is his life at the moment, as badly as he wants her, he wants to take his time more. She wraps herself around him as soon as he crawls over her, hugging him with her entire body in a fierce, determined way that only she can. He trails soft kisses along her jaw and down her throat, and she pushes up against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest through the thin cotton of her shirt.

His heart is pounding against his rib cage so hard and fast that he's convinced for a minute that she must hear it – or at the very least, feel it. He tries to slow down, so she doesn't know quite how frantic he feels at the moment. He eases her tank top up over her stomach, kissing his way over every new inch of skin that's exposed. Annie's hands skip heatedly over his back, shoulders, neck, and hair like she's not quite sure what to do with herself. He tugs the shirt over her head and tosses it to the floor, and her skin is pale and smooth as ivory in the moonlight from his bedroom window. When he rasps his tongue over her breast, she arches her back, squeezing his hips with her bent knees as if she's afraid that he might suddenly stop.

Sometimes, it seems impossible that they haven't always known each other this way - because they've fallen into each other's rhythms without needing any learning curve at all. It's all instinctual, maybe even primal, and sleeping with someone who makes him feel like he can do no wrong is the kind of ego boost that he can seriously use given the fucked up state of affairs in his life at the moment.

When his fingertips slip beneath the elastic waistband of her pants, she immediately lifts her hips so he can slide them and her panties off. From the foot of the bed, he looks up at her, and she's smiling softly, her eyes wide and bright in the dark. She stretches out her leg to brush her toes against his hip and he curls his hand around her foot, digging his thumb into the arch until she squirms and giggles.

"You're such a tease tonight," she says.

He smirks, raising her foot to press a kiss to her big toe.

"Am I?"

She nods her head against the pillow.

"Maybe you're just really impatient," he tells her, crawling back on the bed. "You do have a problem with that sometimes."

She laughs again, but the sound turns into a moan as he licks his way from her knee to her inner thigh. He's found that this is a surefire way to shut her up and he probably could have ended a lot of their past arguments a lot more quickly if he'd just dropped to his knees and pushed up her skirt – not that he's about to tell her that, because, yeah, he knows how it sounds. He'd be lucky if she only stomped on his foot instead of kneeing him in the groin.

Now, though, her thighs fall open as soon as he settles himself between them. She tenses with the first swipe of his tongue even though she's expecting it, and he massages her thigh until she relaxes into his touch. Her fingers wind through his hair, but he doesn't need her to guide him because he knows exactly how she likes it – soft and teasing at first, hard and fast when she's ready to come. Tonight, though, since he wants it to make it last, he backs off every time she's close to the edge, licking slow and easy to keep her hanging. She whines in frustration and somehow manages to grit out "Tease" again, so he laughs against her warm skin. He curls a couple of fingers inside her then, and that seems to be all she needs because she squeezes her knees around his head, lifting her hips off the bed, and keening low in her throat.

She is a ridiculously beautiful woman all the time, but there's something about the way that she looks just after she comes that really does it for him. He crawls up to lie beside so he can watch her as she comes down from the high - she's all flushed and sweaty, and her hair is falling loose from her ponytail around her face, and she has a hand pressed to her chest like the pressure can slow her heart and calm her breathing somehow. While she's recovering, he takes off his boxer briefs and grabs a condom from the bedside table. She reaches out to pull him on top of her, but he scoots back to sit up against the pillows and pulls her into his lap.

It doesn't take her long to get with the program, and when she sinks down over him, he can't remember for the life of him why he was in such a crappy mood earlier.

Annie's still for a moment, which isn't out of the ordinary – she always likes to take a minute to get used to the feeling of him inside her - but when she finally moves, it's only the smallest swivel of her hips and then she's still again. His hands squeeze at her hips to try to get her to speed up, but she only rotates in the opposite direction, still barely moving.

"Now who's the tease?" he groans.

She grins down at him, leaning in to kiss her way along his jaw.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" she whispers against his ear. "Nice and slow?"

She rises just a bit and sinks back down at a leisurely, almost lazy pace – he hugs her to him so he can bury his face in her shoulder because he's embarrassed that he's so damn transparent. Annie's not deterred, though. She keeps up the slow, languid grind until he's slamming his eyes shut, throwing his head back against the wall, and moaning nearly non-stop.

She stills completely then, and he feels her trailing her fingertips down his face, tracing over his lips. He opens his eyes reluctantly and she's looking right at him, her gaze soft but steady. She starts to roll her hips again when she's sure that she's got his full attention and then it's as if he can't look away. It's unnerving to have this kind of eye contact during sex, like he's giving too much away, but it's also seriously hot, which is why he can't tear his eyes away from hers. He squeezes at her hips again, and she finally speeds up until they're both coming and it's impossible to tell who's groaning louder.

They collapse against the mattress, Annie sprawled mostly on top of him as they pant breathlessly in the quiet bedroom. Usually, they find themselves laughing after sex because it's always just giddy fun. Tonight feels different, and he's not exactly sure what to do.

She nuzzles against his throat and presses a kiss to his shoulder just before she rolls away from him. He almost expects to be branded in the spot because her lips seem to sear against his skin. She turns on her side to face him, her hands tucked beneath the pillow, and he reaches out to brush the hair that's come loose from her ponytail away from her face. She yawns suddenly, squinting her eyes in an effort to fight it off.

"Tired?" he asks, amused.

"A little," she confesses. "It's been a long week – two tests and a 15-page paper."

"No classes tomorrow, though, right?"

She nods.

He's not going to ask her to stay – he's not that kind of guy, which is the main reason that he hasn't invited her over to his place before. When he goes to her apartment, he usually has to hurry off right after they do the deed because Troy and Abed will be back at any moment. Here, there's no reason for her to rush off – and while he isn't about to invite her to stay tonight, he realizes that he wouldn't mind if she did. He grabs the TV remote from his nightstand and turns it on.

"I'm gonna get a drink," he tells her, sliding out of bed. "Want something?"

She bobs her head again and he passes her the remote. In the bathroom, he cleans himself up and splashes a little water on his face when he sees how flushed he looks in the unforgiving florescent light. He heads for the kitchen to grab a bottle of water for Annie and fill a glass with a little Scotch for himself. On the way back to the bedroom, he makes a detour to the front door to flip the deadbolt and turn off the living room lights.

He finds Annie lying on her back, the sheet and comforter pulled up to her chest, so she can see the TV better, where a rerun of 'Seinfeld' is playing. She's laughing quietly, her face soft and pearly in the bluish light.

"This is my favorite episode," she tells him, as he hands her the water.

He looks back at the TV where Elaine's boyfriend is painting his face for a hockey game, and nods.

"It's a good one."

He slides back into bed beside her, joining her under the blankets, and she scoots a little closer to him in the center of the bed. She laughs again when Kramer's fighting with a monkey, and he ignores the TV to watch her, the way she tips her head back and bites at her lip to rein in her giggles.

Despite his best efforts, he falls asleep before the episode ends, and when he wakes later, the bedroom is entirely dark. Annie is warm and still beside him, her hand curled lightly around his wrist.


	7. Even When I Question Our Chances

A/N: As always, a big thank you to everyone reading along.

* * *

The one benefit that he can see to being unemployed and completely finished with Greendale is that he's got plenty of time to work out.

In fact, he may actually be in the best shape of his damn life since he's managing to get in three sessions at least five days a week these days.

He's just finishing up a set of crunches when his phone rings – he's planning to ignore it until he sees that it's Annie on the other end of line.

She's probably got another kind of workout in mind and he's more than amenable to burning a few more calories with her before the day's over.

"Troy and Abed wanted me to invite you over," is what she says, though, and he can only laugh.

"Oh, really? Troy and Abed are dying to see me, huh?" he asks, amused. "This is like the Tom Cruise thing, isn't it?"

She lets out an indignant sigh, and somehow, the effect isn't ruined by the static-y phone connection.

"I don't know what you're implying," she huffs. "I'm making dinner and they've got 'Skyfall' all cued up. They say you love James Bond movies and they thought you'd want to watch with them. It was all their idea, I swear."

It's his turn to sigh now because his evening of hot sex has gone up in a puff of smoke.

"Listen, I appreciate the invite, but I'm not really in the mood for movie night with the guys. It'd be…"

He doesn't know what exactly it would be – awkward, uncomfortable, annoying, tempting – but sitting in a room with Troy and Abed between he and Annie doesn't sound like much fun to him right now.

Annie's silent for a moment, and he wonders if she's offended that he doesn't want to come over because he's not going to get sex or if she disapproves that he's blowing off Troy and Abed or if she's just disappointed that they're not going to see each other – any of the above, all of the above probably.

"Jeff," she says finally, and she draws his name out in a way that makes him tighten his grip on his phone just a bit. "Could you… It's just… I kind of wanted to talk to you about something."

If he wasn't already dripping wet from his workout, he's pretty sure that he'd be breaking out in a cold sweat right about now.

No good ever comes from women wanting to talk about something; he knows that from firsthand experience. He runs through the possibilities in his head – Christ, what if she wants to tell him that she loves him? He's got absolutely no response for that, and he can already imagine how her face will crumble when he just stares back blank-faced at her declaration. Or Jesus, what is she's pregnant? They've been sleeping together for over four weeks now, so if it happened right away, she could know by now.

But we've used condoms every time, he reminds himself, and she's on the damn pill.

It's probably something else.

It's got to be something else.

"So talk," he says kindly, hoping he doesn't sound as crazed as he feels.

"No," she insists. "Not over the phone."

Which is how he finds himself hurrying through a shower and throwing on fresh clothes and racing to her apartment when the absolute last thing that he wants to do is watch James Bond with the guys.

Annie can be a drama queen sometimes, he tells himself as he drives to her place. So maybe she just wants his help with a paper – okay, that's ridiculous; she has never needed his help with anything scholastic and she never will. Maybe she's gotten herself into some kind of legal jam and she wants to put his expertise to good use.

It could be anything.

It's probably nothing.

Abed opens the apartment door with a bowl in his hand.

"Annie made rigatoni with vodka sauce," he announces, forgoing a greeting all together.

He tilts the bowl, so Jeff can see the steaming contents.

"Looks great," he says non-committally.

"It's whole wheat rigatoni," Annie calls from the kitchen. "So, you know, less carbs."

Jeff actually laughs, which may be because she knows him so well but is probably the result of nerves more than anything else. Abed settles back in his recliner beside Troy, who takes a break from shoveling pasta into his face to spare Jeff a half-hearted wave.

"Can we start the movie now?" he asks. "We've already been waiting for-ever…"

"Just a second," Annie says, breezing into the room with a couple of bowls that she sets on the table. "I need to get drinks."

Jeff sits down, and Abed leans over the edge of the recliner to look back at him at the table.

"Find a job yet?"

There's no ill will or even judgment in his tone, but Jeff still feels his hackles rise.

"Weighing some options," he lies smoothly.

Abed nods, willing to let the topic go, and Annie returns with a bottle of beer and a bottle of water, holding them out for him to choose. He goes for the beer because he's pretty sure that he'll need at least a little booze to get through this night. She sits beside him, so she can see the TV and Troy quickly hits the play button on the remote to start the movie before anyone can object.

It's kind of ridiculous – Troy and Abed eating their dinner in front of the television like kids, while he and Annie eat at the table like actual adults. He watches her out of the corner of his eye to try to get some sense of her mood – she's watching the movie pretty intently, looking away only long enough to spear a piece of rigatoni on her fork every so often, so it doesn't seem like she's too upset. She realizes that he's watching her after a few minutes and turns to smile at him.

"It's really good," he tells her lamely, gesturing toward the pasta with his fork.

"Thanks. I've been watching the Food Network a lot lately. This is one of Giada—"

"Shhhh!"

Troy and Abed turn in unison to shush them, fingers raised to their lips like annoying school marms. Jeff glares at the back of their heads because he couldn't care less about this damn movie, not when he just wants to talk to Annie so he can figure out exactly how much trouble he's in.

But they watch the rest of the movie – more than two damn hours to be exact – in silence.

He must be acting pretty antsy too because Annie lays her hand on his knee beneath the table at one point, squeezing gently, like she's trying to settle him down. He stops bouncing his knee then, and tries to focus on the warm weight of her hand for the rest of the movie.

As soon as it's over, Abed and Troy start arguing about what to watch next – Abed wants to go old school with 'Goldfinger', but Troy's pushing hard to go the parody route with 'Austin Powers.' Jeff is as sneaky and crafty as a son of a bitch can be, but he can't figure out a way to get rid of these two. He's ready to kick himself for not insisting that Annie just come to his place where privacy isn't a premium.

Until she stands suddenly, smiling big and bright.

"You know what I have a craving for?" she asks.

Troy and Abed look at her in confusion, while Jeff starts to sweat all over again - he may not know much about pregnant women, but like Abed, he's seen enough sitcoms and romantic comedies to know about the food cravings.

"Mint chocolate chip ice cream," she declares after a moment, when it's clear no one is going to guess. "And I think since I cooked dinner, the least you guys could do is go pick up a carton."

"Why can't Jeff?" Troy whines. "We're trying to figure out what to watch next."

"He's our guest," Annie says primly. "We can't make him run errands."

Jeff bobs his head in emphatic agreement.

"Fine. We'll go get your damn ice cream," Troy pouts, standing up. "But I'm getting Chunky Monkey and you can't have any."

Abed's more good natured about getting stuck with ice cream duty and smiles as he follows Troy to the door.

"Any requests, Jeff?"

"Mint chocolate chip is fine," he says, wanting them gone yesterday.

When the door closes behind them, Annie sinks into one of the abandoned recliners so he sits in the other one, angling himself so he can see her face.

"You wanted to talk," he says as gently as he can manage. "Is everything okay?"

She twists her hands together in her lap anxiously, and he goes from uneasy to terrified in three seconds flat.

Maybe she's having fucking twins.

"My mother called this morning," she says. "Well, she left a message actually. I didn't answer."

He cocks his head, trying his best to follow along.

"Okay. And that's a big deal because?"

She looks up at him, like she's debating exactly how much to tell him.

"It's the first contact we've had in almost four months."

He's surprised, though he tries his best not to show it. He knows that there's some sort of dysfunction in her family tree and that she's lived on her own as long as he's known her, but she's spent holidays with her mother in the past so he assumed that it was the kind of passive-aggressive tension that simmered just below the surface. He never figured that things were this rocky.

"Really?" he says inanely.

She nods.

"We had this really big fight back in the fall when I decided to switch from healthcare administration to forensics. It's not like she's ever been particularly proud of anything I've done at Greendale because, you know, it's just community college, but apparently this was the last straw or something. I'm too much of a disappointment now to even call on my birthday."

He thinks back over the past few months, trying to see if he can find any hint that she was carrying all of this around with her. It seems impossible that he wouldn't have picked up on it, but then he was so caught up in his own baggage that he probably wasn't paying much attention to anyone else.

"I know she's your mother," he says. "But you know that's all bullshit, right? You'd be kicking ass wherever you were because that's who you are, Annie. Everyone else at Greendale may be out of options, but that doesn't mean you are."

She shakes her head almost defiantly.

"That's not… I didn't ask you to come over here because I wanted you to compliment me or make me feel better about myself."

"Okay. Then why did you?"

Annie tilts her head, and her eyes are all liquid-y and soft like she might cry at any moment, and God, he'd never hit a woman but if he ever found himself face to face with Annie's mother, he'd be seriously tempted.

"I was wondering…" she says hesitantly. "I just wanted to know how you got up the nerve to see your father. I know it's not the same thing because he left you when you were just a little kid and this stuff with my mother is only a few months old, but …"

He knows that's not the truth – she's got years' worth of issues with her mother that he's willing to bet would have Dr. Strome filling up legal pad after legal pad with insightful notes.

"Annie, I don't—"

"I'm not trying to pry or anything," she says. "I don't want to intrude. I just mean, generally. How did you do it?"

He sighs, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

"The thing is, it wasn't really about him. Yeah, I was curious about what he was like, but really, I went to see him because there were things that I needed to stay to him if I was ever going to get over it." He shrugs, like it was seriously that simple. "So I did it."

She nods, taking each and every word to heart.

"And it made you feel better?"

"I don't know if better's the right word," he says. "But I didn't feel as bad anymore."

"There are probably a lot of things I need to say to my mother. But the thought of actually doing it is just so exhausting."

"No one says you have to do it now," he tells her. "On your mother's timetable. You do it when you want to. She's your mom … she's always going to have to listen to you."

Annie bobs her head, like she might honestly believe him. He's not known for giving this kind of touchy-feely advice, so he's just glad that he didn't blow it completely.

"She put a lot of pressure on you, huh?" he asks. "Your mom?"

She laughs humorlessly.

"I became addicted to pills at 17, Jeff. That doesn't happen because your parents are all warm and fuzzy."

"No, I guess not. What about your dad? Do you talk to him?"

"Not really," she sighs. "I mean, every now and then. And every few months, I get a check in the mail for like $400 or $500. But I haven't cashed any of them - there are like 12 or 13 sitting in my desk drawer right now."

He smiles, reaching out to snag her hand and slide his fingers through hers.

"Let's cash 'em," he jokes. "Then hop on a plane to Vegas and let it all ride on black."

She huffs out a sad, little laugh.

"It's nice that he's still trying to look out for you, though," Jeff points out. "Right?"

"I guess. But it's just so typical. Whenever my mom would yell at me when I was little, my dad would sneak out and buy me something like a teddy bear or earrings. He wouldn't ever stand up for me or tell her to lay off, but he could rack up credit card bills with the best of them."

Jeff lowers his head, not knowing what to say. He rubs his thumb across the palm of her hand, and she curls her fingers around his.

"Com'ere," he whispers, tugging on her hand to pull her toward him.

She giggles, but falls into his lap easily, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she says. "You probably thought I asked you to come over because I wanted to…"

She cocks her head back and forth.

"Honestly? I was terrified you were going to tell me that you were pregnant or something equally horrifying."

She laughs, smacking at his chest.

"You're off the hook. I'm actually PMS-ing big time as we speak. It's probably why my mother's message got me so worked up."

"Ah, I see," he says, nodding thoughtfully. "Can I get you anything? Godiva? Midol? Abed's copy of 'The Notebook'?"

She smiles, toying with the open buttons at the collar of his shirt.

"Is it weird that I talked to you about this?" she asks.

"About your period? Come on, Annie. I'm a real man – I can say the word uterus without even flinching."

She giggles again, vibrating against him in a way that is seriously distracting.

"Not about that. About my mother. Did I make you uncomfortable?"

He frowns because he's not quite sure what she's getting at.

"Why would I be uncomfortable?"

She shrugs, and goes back to playing with the buttons on his shirt to avoid eye contact.

"You know, because we're sleeping together now and this is kind of personal…"

"Annie," he says, sliding his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up so she meets his eyes. "We're friends, right? You can talk to me about whatever you want. That hasn't changed just because we found out that we're seriously sexually compatible."

She smiles, but it's tight and forced. He can feel the tension in her body against his too, like she's trying to keep herself in check.

"I just don't want you to think that I expect anything because things are different between us now."

If she were talking about her relationship with any other guy, he'd tell her that she has every damn right to expect something, that she shouldn't settle for anything less than everything. But he knows himself and he knows what he's capable of and she's right to be so hesitant – and he also remembers how he downplayed every single moment that ever happened between them when she finally had the guts to call him on his crap. She's not about to put herself out there, so he can shoot her down again – and he understands why.

He can't tell her any of that, though.

"You've made me feel kind of guilty," he finds himself saying.

She lifts her head from his shoulder to meet his eyes.

"About what?"

"My mom calls me all the time," he tells her. "I send her to straight to voicemail like nine times out of ten."

Annie frowns, tapping her fingers against his bicep.

"Why?"

There's no story of pressure or disappointment to share, no childhood of neglect or inattention to explain any of it away. It's a lot simpler and a lot more complex than all that.

"I don't know if you've noticed this about me," he says lightly, sliding his hand along her thigh. "But I'm much more comfortable arms-lengthing people."

"Even your mom?"

"Especially my mom." He twists the hem of her skirt between his fingers. "Or, you know, anyone who actually means something to me."

She shakes her head, almost sadly, and runs her fingers along his jaw.

"That's really silly," she whispers.

She leans in to kiss him, and he fists a hand through her hair to keep her close as he changes the angle. She kisses him breathless and senseless, so he has to drop his head back against the recliner's cushion and get himself together. Annie lays her cheek against his shoulder, her fingers tracing small circles over his chest.

They stay tangled together in the recliner like that until they hear Troy beat boxing in the hallway and Abed's keys in the lock.


	8. Not the Fastest Draw in Town

A/N: So I started this story with a general idea of what was going to happen in the upcoming season to get Jeff back at Greendale and I wrote that one detail in without knowing the larger context of that development. Based on promos and some articles with general spoiler-y information, I know the proper context now - and I definitely like it better than what I came up with here, but I didn't bother to rewrite this chapter because honestly, those details aren't really what's important for this story and this is all pretty AU post 4x13. But if you're someone who avoids all spoilers at all costs, you'll probably want to wait until after the premiere tonight to read this chapter.

Oh, and thanks again to everyone reading along!

* * *

He doesn't even make it out from behind the wheel before he strips off his tie.

Another day, another interview that lead absolutely nowhere, and the thought of making it all the way from his car up to his apartment exhausts him - so he sits in his car in his parking space and tries to resist the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel.

And yeah, maybe he doesn't really want to go upstairs to his empty apartment where he'll be left alone with nothing but his thoughts either. His mind is a dark, dark place these days, and the less time he spends inside it, the better.

There's also the possibility, however remote, that he just doesn't want to be alone at all right now. And it turns out that Dr. Strome is right too – he does have a choice where Annie is concerned because now that they no longer spend all day on the same rinky-dink campus, he has to actively seek her out or wait for her to seek him out if he's going to see her. She's got things to occupy her time too, like classes and clubs and the study group, so her schedule is just a little bit fuller than his these days.

Which probably means that the only reason that he'll see her tonight is because he just plain wants to and chooses to pick up the phone and reach out.

He can admit that to himself.

Well, sort of.

The fact that she was the last one to call and arrange a meeting makes him feel a little less uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Not that he's keeping score or anything.

It's barely 4:30, which means she's probably still at Greendale, but he texts her anyway.

_Where are you?_

She texts back faster than anyone else he knows, so he barely has to wait a minute for her response.

_Just leaving campus._

_Stop by for a minute?_

_Be there in 10. :)  
_

His car is starting to feel a little stuffy, but he still doesn't want to go up to his apartment so he slides up onto the hood to sit and wait for Annie. It's just about dusk, which means the sky is a weird grayish-purple that has a look of impending doom and there's still an annoying chill in the air, but at least the world feels a little bigger out here, like maybe it doesn't have him quite so hemmed in.

A week or so ago, when he called Annie and invited her over, he wasn't looking for someone to talk to – he was looking for someone to make him forget. Now, he thinks that he might actually need someone to talk to, and sure, he could call Britta, who's listened in the past and would probably cream herself at the thought of getting to play therapist again, and confiding in Annie inevitably means that she's going to try her damnedest to fix everything for him and that usually brings a headache with it the size of California.

But right now, he thinks that that might actually be what he wants – someone to do the thinking for him and straighten things out and just take care of him.

It's pathetic and embarrassing, but he's got little shame these days.

He hears a car door slam behind him, and there Annie is, walking across the parking lot, almost exactly ten minutes after she sent her last text just like she said she would be. She already looks like she's on a mission, with her purposeful gait and determined expression.

"Is everything okay?" she asks.

Finding him on the hood of his car like this is probably enough to raise her concern. She boosts herself up beside him, but he has to grab her arm and pull her all the way because she keeps sliding to the edge.

"Depends on your definition of okay," he says. "If okay means that I haven't gone on 26 plus interviews over the past five or six weeks and haven't received exactly 26 rejections, then no. I'm not okay."

Annie's eyes widen and her brow furrows like she's trying to follow along in a foreign language.

"I don't understand. Every time I ask about your interviews, you say they've gone well. Why wouldn't-"

"Here's the thing, Annie. I can ace every single interview – and I do because I am seriously that charming – but as soon as they look at my resume, as soon as they realize that I was disbarred, that my degree's from Greendale, and that I still haven't retaken the Bar, my charm seems to lose a little of its luster."

She shakes her head emphatically, almost defiantly, because that's Annie – so dedicated to her world view that she can't fathom other people not enthusiastically embracing it.

In this case, her world view being that he's a serious catch in the job market.

"Okay, fine," she says. "So you've gone on interviews with a few close-minded law firms, that doesn't mean that there's not someone out there willing to give you a second chance. I mean, you just graduated a little over a month ago. I read an article the other day that said it takes recent college graduates an average of three to nine months to find a job. Maybe you thought it would be a little easier, but that doesn't mean it isn't going to happen eventually."

She is looking at him so earnestly, with her wide, blue eyes and sad, little frown, and he knows that she believes every word that she's saying. At a time when his confidence has hit an all-time low, it is surprisingly comforting to know that she still sees him as capable of anything. She loops her arms through his, so they're leaning into one another and he wishes that she wasn't quite so hard to lie to.

"I hate admitting this," he says quietly. "But maybe I have to face facts and accept that it's just not going to happen. I made it through three and a half years at Greendale telling myself that I'd get that old life back, but now I'm done and I've still got nothing to show for it."

"Jeff, don't—"

"And it's not just a matter of pride at this point," he says. "It's a matter of money. You know, to pay for the roof over my head and put some food on the table."

She bumps her shoulder against his.

"And those new Salvatore Ferragamo boots," she teases.

He smiles, grateful for the shift in mood.

"Hey, you agreed – those bad boys are hot. They're just as much a necessity as three square meals a day."

She rests her chin on his shoulder, looking up at him through the fluttery fringe of her lashes, and he seriously thinks that she could conquer the world with nothing but her ridiculous, beautiful, soulful eyes.

"Okay," she says. "So then you find a job, any job, that can pay the bills and let the rest of it take care of itself."

He laughs.

"Let the rest of it take of itself? You live to control and plan everything in your life, and you want me to just wing it?"

Annie shrugs, smiling softly.

"I'm trying to get better about that."

"Fine. So what the hell kind of job can I get with a degree from Greendale? Luis Guzman aside, our alumni aren't exactly setting the world on fire."

She cocks her head, giving the question serious thought.

"You got your degree in Education," she says. "Maybe you could—"

"Jeffrey! Annie! What a nice surprise!"

They turn to see the Dean bouncing right toward them, his face contorted with unabashed glee. Jeff's done such a good job at avoiding his would-be stalker over the past month that he'd practically forgotten the Dean lived in his building. Annie slowly slides her arm free of his, presumably to avoid suspicion, but she doesn't move away from him otherwise. She watches the Dean approach with what looks like apprehension – until some light bulb seems to go off in her head and her eyes widen and she smiles slyly.

She leans in conspiratorially, and he is absolutely in love with the bloom of color across her cheeks.

"It goes against everything in me," she whispers. "But I'm not going to actively meddle."

She pushes herself to the edge and jumps off the hood in a decidedly lady-like way that only she can pull off.

"I left my bag in my car," she announces breezily. "I'm just going to run and get it. Jeff, maybe you and the Dean could catch up. You know, about *work* and stuff…"

The Dean starts chattering away about the latest goings-on at Greendale, which actually seem pretty tame by Greendale standards, until he lowers his voice and launches into a story about how several of the faculty where caught masterminding some kind of dog or cock fighting ring– "I'm a little fuzzy on all the details," the Dean explains. "The poor animals, either way." - in the cafeteria after hours and he's had to let them go, which means he's scrambling to find replacements when they're already four weeks into the semester.

"It's a nightmare, Jeffrey. An honest to goodness nightmare. PETA sent me this really, really nasty letter. Like it was *my* fault."

The fact that one of these disgraced faculty members was teaching a few law classes doesn't escape Jeff's attention, and suddenly it all make sense.

Not actively meddle, my ass, he thinks as he looks over his shoulder to watch Annie make a big show of fiddling with something in the backseat of her car.

He knows what she's thinking – he often does, he realizes, because as different as they are, they seem to follow the same wavelength most of the time – and she has to be certifiably insane because that's the only reasonable explanation for this kind of brainstorm.

He put in his damn time at Greendale – choosing to go back would be masochistic in the extreme. Like doing a dime at the State Pen and then deciding to take a job as a guard.

Sheer lunacy.

But as the Dean starts to go on and on about how much he's missed at Greendale, he does a few mental calculations – and yeah, he's not sure how many more months he can get away with choosing between paying his electric and phone bills.

All it would take is one word from him, he knows, and the Dean would be drawing up a contract on the back of the subscription card in the 'US Weekly' he's clutching to his chest.

Jeff freezes.

Holy fuck, is seriously contemplating this?

Apparently, he is, because less than an hour later, he's in a noisy Asian fusion restaurant, tucked into a circular booth with Annie and the Dean on either side of him, to celebrate his new position at Greendale.

Annie is uncharacteristically quiet – she didn't even squeal or clap or make that ridiculous 'Awww'-ing sound when the Dean practically jumped up and down to share the "good" news – but she's got this pleased, little smile playing around the corners of her mouth. He'd be annoyed that she's so happy about this when he is considerably less so if she didn't have her hand on his thigh, practically in his lap, under the table.

If he could figure out some way to get rid of the Dean, he thinks that he could actually get her to give new meaning to the phrase PDA.

She looks at him over the rim of her champagne glass – the bubbly was the Dean's idea, but considering Annie's fondness for it, Jeff didn't see any reason to object – and her gaze is so hot and intense that he feels a little feverish.

Or maybe it's just the reality of what he's done hitting in the face and making him feel delirious.

It's a definite possibility.

Somehow, they manage to the ditch the Dean back at the apartment complex when Jeff insists on walking Annie to her car since, you know, it's dark now. She's entirely too happy about his new career path and it pisses him off a little bit, but how can he seriously be mad at her when she didn't even push him into this? When he sat here earlier and practically wished that she would clean up his messy life? When this might actually keep him from having to live out of his car again?

He can't.

Not anywhere but his own head anyway.

"So…" she says, swinging her purse through the air as they stroll across the parking lot. "What other problems can I solve for you tonight?"

He frowns.

"Annie, you didn't really solve my problem so much as replace it with about 100 more. So, really, I think you've done more than enough for one night."

Her mouth drops open, like she genuinely has a right to be outraged.

"Jeff! You seriously don't have any gratitude?"

"First of all," he declares. "Why should I be grateful to you? You didn't *actively* meddle, right?"

"I didn't, but that's not—"

"Second of all, this is absolutely pathetic," he insists. "And I'm going to wind up seriously regretting it. You realize that, right?"

She stops dead still, right in the middle of the parking lot, and sighs, sounding long-suffering and put upon.

"It's just a job, Jeff. You're not signing the rest of your life away or anything. You do it for a few months and if it's a disaster, you move on." She cocks her head, her eyes trailing over him from head to toe. "Besides, I think you could be really good at it."

He laughs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, really? Is it my stellar track record as a no-nonsense, dedicated student that leads you to believe that?"

Annie curls her hand around his elbow and leans in close.

"You have a way with words, right?" she says. "And you love working to an audience. That's mostly what teaching is."

He shakes his head, still feeling dubious. He lowers his arms and rests a hand on her lower back to guide her toward her car again.

"Oh, come on," she sighs after a moment. "It won't be that bad."

"It's Greendale, Annie. It will be probably be worse than either one of us can possibly imagine."

She tilts her head, considering this, and shrugs like she can't really argue.

"But you'll get to see me every day," she points out.

She leans back against her car, looking up at him with those blue, blue eyes that somehow manage to look entirely innocent and seriously wanton at the same time. He rests his palms against the metal on either side of her, so she's trapped between the cold car and his warm body.

"You're definitely one of the few things Greendale has going for it," he tells her, leaning in to press his mouth against the wildly fluttering pulse point at the side of her throat. "And maybe, if you promise to spend all of your lunch breaks in the backseat of my car, I could get excited about this…"

She groans his name, trying to sound disapproving, but she's stretching up on her toes to kiss him so it's hard to take her seriously. He slips his hands inside her jacket and clutches at her hips, his fingers just skirting beneath the soft fabric of her sweater to tease the skin at her lower back. It would be so easy to take her upstairs, lose himself in her again and hide away from reality once more - you know, the reality where he's just agreed to teach at Greendale.

Fuck.

He starts to pull away, and she sighs her disappointment in such a sexy way that he finds himself grinding against her stomach almost against his will.

"Listen," he says, knowing he sounds breathless and strained, like he's about to go into cardiac arrest. "I'd ask you upstairs, but it's been a really weird day and I—"

"It's okay," she says, smoothing a hand over her hair. "I have a test tomorrow. I'm actually two hours off my study schedule as is."

He laughs, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.

"Wow. I'm seriously flattered that you'd blow off studying for me." He moves his mouth to ear, worrying it between his teeth for a second. "Especially when I didn't even make it worth your while."

She giggles, winding her arms around his waist.

"Rain check?"

He bobs his head.

"Definitely."

Her mouth curves up in a sweet smile, and it's so damn tempting that he has to lean in to steal another kiss. She slides her tongue against his and curls her hand over his hip to tug him closer, and he's thinking that maybe flinging her over his shoulder and carrying her upstairs is the only thing to do right now.

Annie presses a hand to his chest then, though, pushing him back.

"I better go," she pants. "Or we'll wind up committing lewd and lascivious acts in a parking lot."

He traces his thumb along her glistening lower lip.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he reminds her. "I kind of think of parking lots as our special place."

She raises an eyebrow, but there's a pretty blush across her checks.

"Wouldn't cars be more accurate?"

He shrugs and presses a kiss to her throat.

"Cars…" Another kiss. "Parking lots." And another kiss. "The back stairwell at your building." One more kiss for good measure. "We've got a few special places."

"That's what we can use the rain check for," she says, nuzzling his jaw. "Finding a new special place…"

"There are a lot of new possibilities to consider now. You know, at Greendale."

"Jeff," she says warningly. "We're not going to—"

"Don't be so close-minded," he teases. "I bet you never imagined we'd have sex for the first time in a car and look what happened."

"That was in the heat of the moment!"

"Well, lots of things can happen in the heat of the moment. Even at Greendale."

She leans up and kisses him once more soundly on the lips before shoving him away.

"We'll see," she says haughtily, so it really comes across as "No chance."

He stands back and watches as she gets into her car and starts the engine. She waves through the window just before she pulls out, and like a fucking idiot, he finds himself waving back.

What the hell is wrong with him?

And that's not even the lamest thing he's done tonight.

He took a job at Greendale.

Fucking Greendale.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

There's a vaguely sick feeling in his stomach as he walks up to his apartment, kind of like the night at the Tranny Dance where Britta and Slater played emotional tug-of-war with him in the most public of venues.

That's what he's headed back to, he thinks – a place where that kind of insanity and some much, much worse happen so regularly and spectacularly that people hardly notice anymore.

But at least he'll be able to afford electricity, running water, and the unlimited data plan for his phone this month.

And there's also the potential for plenty of Annie run-ins – that takes a little of the sting out of it.

Still, he's totally ordering those Salvatore Ferragamo boots as a 'Sorry You've Taken the Worst Job in the World' gift for himself tonight.

He totally deserves them.


	9. Coming Home's a Prison Break

M-rating for this chapter.

A/N: Thanks, as always, to everyone reading along - it's much appreciated. So I've fully outlined the rest of the story and I'm trying to get it written as quickly as possible, which means you may see more frequent updates over the next week or so. That's the plan anyway - we'll see how real life cooperates.

* * *

He only makes it until noon on the first day of his new career before he barricades himself in his office.

Hiding out is probably not the most mature response to his situation, but Jeff is always willing to cut himself a little slack – and he didn't track Britta down to see if she still carries that emergency flask in her bag so that's got to count for something.

So what if he wants to stay locked inside a tiny room where he can pretend that he's somewhere else instead of actually interacting with students, other faculty members, and anyone or thing else that might remind him that he's employed at an institution at the absolute bottom of the academic food chain?

Whatever gets you through the day, right?

His office is nothing more than a tiny broom closet, with ugly concrete walls and an ancient metal desk and pair of rickety wooden chairs shoved inside to sell the illusion. It's definitely not high on ambiance, but it's a place where he can escape from the insanity that is Greendale, prop his feet up on his desk, and catch a few Z's. Finding the silver lining in the cloud that is teaching at this nuthouse is no small feat, so he's proud of himself for at least making the effort.

Because, yeah, the transition to life as a member of Greendale's not so illustrious faculty has been just as uncomfortable as he expected.

He refused to prepare himself for it precisely because he knew there was no preparation that would really help. That didn't stop Annie from spending most of the weekend trying to convince him to let her help him come up with some type of lesson plan, which, of course, required just a bit more effort than he was willing to put in.

"I'll just use the last guy's syllabus," he told her.

"Jeff," she sighed in exasperation. "Bernier was let go because he was organizing cock fights. *Cock* fights." She made a disgusted face, but he got a cheap thrill out of hearing her say 'cock' even in that context. "I think his grasp of the legal system is tenuous at best."

Jeff shrugged.

"Fine. So I'll wing it."

Annie flushed, her cheeks nearly turning purple with suppressed rage – the idea that he wasn't going to take a class any more seriously as a professor than he had as a student was probably enough to make her blood boil. Fortunately, he had ways to distract her now that weren't available him just a few months ago, so he was able to change the subject eventually.

And he wound up winging it pretty well if does say so himself.

He spent his first class explaining why he prefers "Law and Order: SVU" to the original recipe – he thinks his graph detailing how Mariska Hargarity's shirts get progressively tighter as the seasons go on was pretty convincing – and why he never wastes his time on the "Criminial Intent" version – because yeah, Vincent D'Onofrio is that off-putting. He wasn't aware that he had 50 minutes worth of thoughts on the subjects, but the time pretty much flew so all's well that ends well.

He's contemplating filling up the rest of the week's classes with viewings of his favorite SVU episodes when there's a knock at his door. Technically, he's supposed to have office hours, but he hasn't posted any and he can't imagine anyone actually having questions about today's lecture.

But Annie peeks her head in then, and he perks up instantly.

"I finally found you," she says, shutting the door behind her. She has a pot in her hands and a bright smile on her lips, and the view in his cinder block office has just improved immensely. "None of these offices are marked."

"That's because they're not really offices, Annie." He nods toward the broom and bucket in the corner. "This was a janitor's closet in its not-so former life."

"But it's still all yours," she says, and holds the terracotta pot in her hands out to him. "And maybe this will make it feel a little more like home."

He takes the plant from her with a smirk.

"My thumb isn't the least bit green. This thing's going to die a slow, painful death."

She grins knowingly, like that's exactly what she expected him to say.

"That's why I picked a cactus. It's actually worse to water it too much than to not water it at all."

He regards the prickly plant dubiously, but places it on the corner of his nearly empty desk beside his can of Diet Coke and the latest issue of "GQ".

"See," Annie says. "This place looks better already."

He looks her up and down slowly – she's wearing a navy dress with a nice, deep V-neckline that her yellow cardigan doesn't do much to hide and a tight, straight skirt that ends just enough above her knees to remind him how soft and milky-white the inside of her thighs are.

"I'm not sure the plant can take the credit," he says, toying with her hem. "This dress has me forgetting we're even at Greendale."

She flushes and tilts her head coyly.

"You like it?" she practically purrs.

"I do. Very much."

He reaches for her hand and pulls her into his lap, where she squirms and giggles in surprise.

"Jeff! We can't—"

"Hey, I'm on the faculty now," he reminds her. "If I say we can do it, we can do it."

"We talked about this," she sighs, but she's winding her arms around his neck and not doing a thing about the hand that he's sliding beneath the hem of her dress. "I don't think we should fool around here. It's just too…"

She exhales shakily as he kisses his way along her jaw and traces circles on the inside of her thigh with his fingertips.

"Were you serious about that? I thought you were just saying it so I'd try to convince you otherwise. And believe me, I'm more than willing to convince you…"

"I have class in 45 minutes," she says breathlessly, just as his fingers reach the lacy edge of her underwear and she arches into the touch.

He smiles against her neck.

"That's plenty of time."

She shakes her head even as she lets out a quiet moan.

"But I have to give a presentation. I can't go all…"

She trails off her when he presses his thumb against her over her panties.

"Sexed up?" he offers, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Annie hears it all the same, though, and seems to sober up, smacking at his chest.

"Yes, jerk. Have you seen the things you do to my hair? You run your hands through it and it looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical outlet."

He laughs, bouncing his knee to jiggle her a little.

"Are you actually complaining about my enthusiasm? That's a first for-"

She cups a hand around his jaw and pulls him in for a kiss, her tongue stealing away the rest of his words. He feels her hands in his hair then, messing it up on purpose, he's willing to bet, but he really doesn't care because he's got one hand on her breast and the other curled around her hip, sliding promisingly toward her ass, so he can't complain about anything in good conscience.

"It *was* a big day for you today," she half whispers, half moans, when he kisses that sweet spot just behind her ear. "Your first day teaching and all."

He hums his agreement, gently pushing her hair out of the way to avoid being reprimanded.

"And it went well?"

"Yeah," he says distractedly. "Sure."

And it did go well – she doesn't need to know that he spent ten entire minutes explaining why Alex Cabot is a better D.A. than Casey Novak and Kim Greylek is just the worst. Every relationship needs a little mystery.

"Then just because I can't have any fun right now doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"Huh?" he says, utterly confused when she starts to pull away from him.

But then she's sliding to her knees on the floor between his legs and reaching for his belt and he gets the picture loud and clear. It's too fucking good to be true, he thinks, just before she takes him out of his pants and slowly runs her tongue along the entire length of his erection.

Because yeah, he's had this fantasy before.

Well, usually it's at the table in the study room, or maybe in a booth at the cafeteria or in the biology lab and yeah, sometimes, even the Dean's office.

If he'd known that one day he'd have a cramped dump of an office on the Greendale campus, though, he would have imagined it here too.

Because now she's got him all the way in her mouth and she's humming just like he likes and he can hear voices and footsteps in the hallway on the other side of his pseudo-office's unlocked door. His hand falls to her head, just resting it there, but she reaches up, sliding him out of her mouth in the process, and pushes it off almost immediately.

"Watch my hair," she reminds him.

"You're starting to sound like me," he laughs, but his voice dissolves into a strangled sob as she swirls her tongue around the tip of his cock and skates her mouth over him again.

She's laughing too and the vibration around his dick is seriously too much to handle. He slumps a little in the chair because he's feeling kind of boneless at the moment. He lets the hard wood of the seat back support his head, his eyes fall shut, and he clutches his hands around the armrests to avoid the temptation of playing with Annie's hair again.

But while he can keep his hands under control, he can't seem to stop his hips from thrusting forward and he's fucking her smart, pretty mouth and what's so terrible about his life again?

Because right now, it seems pretty damn perfect.

When he comes, he twists a lock of her hair between his fingers, without even realizing that he's picked it up, and he really hopes he hasn't messed it up too much because he seriously wants a repeat performance in the not too distant future.

It takes him a minute to get himself together, and when he finally opens his eyes, Annie's wiping her mouth with one of the napkins from his lunch and her hair looks just fine. He tucks himself back in his pants and zips up, seeing nothing but the silver lining of his cloudy existence at the moment. Apparently, all it takes to make the world a little brighter is a blow job from Annie – he files that information away for future reference. It's bound to come in handy at some point.

"This place definitely feels like home now," he says, with a lazy grin. "You didn't even have to bring the plant."

She stands, smoothing her dress back in place. There's a slight blush to her cheeks, but she's smiling too.

"I didn't mean to do that."

"You didn't?" he laughs. "Well, it's an even more impressive effort if that's the case."

She huffs out an annoyed breath and smacks at his arm.

"You know what I mean," she declares. "It wasn't my intention when I came to see you. That's what I'm saying."

He tugs on the hem of her dress, so she stumbles back between his legs.

"Well, it looks like I'm in your debt now. If you want to stop back after your class, I'd be happy to pay up."

He offers her his most winning smile, though he doesn't actually expect her to accept the invitation - but to his surprise, she tilts her head thoughtfully, like she's seriously considering the possibility. Maybe he's underestimated how much going down on him turns her on.

"I would deserve it after giving a flawless presentation," she muses.

He bobs his head in emphatic agreement.

"Yes. Exactly. I'll give you my version of a gold star."

She laughs, bumping her knee against his in what he assumes is supposed to be a scolding manner but actually just seems flirty and teasing.

"Jeff, that's awful. Seriously."

He shrugs and folds his arms behind his head as he leans back in his chair. Annie heads for the door, but stops just as her hands closes around the knob.

"We really shouldn't make a habit of this, though," she tells him.

He nods solemnly.

"I agree," he says, and she looks impressed that he's actually being responsible for once. "Starting tomorrow, only once a day on school grounds like respectable people."

He expects her to smack or kick him again, but she just smiles, shaking her head and regarding him with such a warm look in her eyes that he gets that uncomfortably tight feeling in his gut again that looking at her sometimes inspires.

"Good luck on your presentation," he remembers to call only after she's stepped into the hallway.

She smiles again and bobs her head before disappearing behind the closed door. Alone in his office once again, he props his feet up on his desk and makes himself as comfortable as he can in his wobbly wooden chair. There's nothing better to do while he waits for her to return than take a nap.

Besides, he's pretty much earned it at this point.


	10. Northern Lights

A/N: A big thank you as always to everyone reading along.

* * *

Somehow, despite her five minute head start and uncharacteristic speeding, he manages to make it to her building just as she's parking her car in front.

He credits luck and the fact that while she was willing to gun it to almost 50 in a 30-mph zone, she wasn't so forgone that she'd actually blow through red lights.

Even in anger, Annie has her limits.

Unfortunately, those limits don't seem to extend to slamming doors in his face.

She tries first with the lobby door, but he manages to wedge his foot inside before she gets it closed. Upstairs, she attempts it again, though she should know by now that his reflexes are razor-sharp – he slams a hand against the plywood before she can shut it and muscles his way inside right behind her. Annie huffs in outrage, flinging her purse to the floor just inside the entryway, and stomps off toward the kitchen.

"Okay," he says, trying to keep his cool as he follows her. "Is there a chance you're going to tell me why you're pissed any time soon? I'm not sure how many more times I can ask before I start banging my head against the wall in a crude attempt to lobotomize myself."

He leans against the kitchen bar and watches as she pulls a bottle of tequila from one of the cabinets and dribbles a little into one of Abed's Scooby Doo glasses. She seems determined to ignore him, her gaze fixed on a spot just above his shoulder as she throws back the shot.

Her bad mood hasn't come entirely out of nowhere – she'd been annoyed with him earlier, before they met up with their friends at the bar, when she found the stack of DVDs that he'd borrowed from Abed on his office desk.

"'The Client,' 'My Cousin Vinny,' 'The Firm,' 'Erin Brockovich,' 'Runaway Jury,' 'The Devil's Advocate,'" she read off the titles as she flipped through the cases. "Are these for your class?"

"Maybe," he hedged. "I'm evaluating them as possible curriculum materials."

"Jeff," she sighed heavily – she could express more disappointment in a single word than anyone he'd ever known. "This isn't a high school English class. You can't show a movie because you're nursing a hangover and need a little me time."

He smirked.

"Man, I wish I had your English teacher."

"I'm serious, Jeff. What you're doing is important. You're shaping young minds."

He laughed - because the idea of anything important happening at Greendale was utterly hilarious.

"Young minds? There's a guy in my class that's got a few years on Leonard. I think his mind's actually losing shape as we speak."

Annie frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You know what I mean. Everyone's not like you – too lazy and cool to care. You can't treat your class like they're all a bunch of Jeff Wingers."

He felt a muscle in his jaw twitch and narrowed his eyes.

"Well, they're not all perfect, little Annie Edisons either who take everything in the world so seriously that it all becomes a matter of life and freaking death."

She glared at him and her nostrils flared slightly, but she didn't throw the tantrum that he was expecting.

"You know what?" she said calmly. "You're right. Maybe you and I are extremes. So think about all the people that fall in the middle. They're not expecting Robin Williams in 'Dead Poets Society.' They just want to learn something remotely useful. Is that really too much to ask?"

She left his office without another word, which meant he had to sit there and feel like jerk all by himself for the rest of the afternoon.

Now, she pours more tequila into her glass and downs another shot. He can't really blame her – she was barely at the bar long enough to finish an entire drink – but he's getting seriously tired of the silent treatment.

"Are you really going to ignore me all night?"

"I'm not mad," she insists. "I've told you at least a half dozen times that I'm fine."

"Yes, Annie. You have. But women like to say things are fine when they're anything but - and the fact that you tried to slam the door in my face twice doesn't really bolster your case.. Don't act like I should magically know why you're mad either. I'm not a damn mind reader."

She slams her empty glass down on the counter, nearly knocking it over. But then she's reaching for the bottle again and refilling the glass.

"I don't even know why you followed me back here," she says. "I'm not going to sleep with you tonight, so you're just wasting your time."

He laughs darkly.

"I hate to break it to you, but sex is the last thing on my mind right now."

It's only a half-lie – he can't help it if she's seriously hot when she works herself up into a lather like this. She drops her hands to her hips and pins him with her fierce, unflinching gaze.

"So why are you here then, Jeff?"

He gives her an exaggerated shrug because, seriously, it should be obvious at this point.

"Because you've been acting like you wanted to take my head off for most of the night and I'd like to know why."

"You are such an egomaniac," she growls. "Everything isn't about you, okay?"

She storms out of the kitchen with her half empty glass of tequila, trying to bulldoze right past him, but he wraps a hand around her elbow to halt her progress. When she looks up at him, her eyes are so dark with fury that they're nearly black.

"I would argue that point," he says cockily. "But even if *everything* isn't about me, I'm pretty sure you acting like a two-year old tonight had a little something to do with me."

She goes eerily still for a moment, like she's barely even breathing, but then she takes a step toward him so they're practically pressed together and points a finger in his face.

"If you make one more crack about my age, I swear to God I'm going to punch you right in your perfect, smug face."

He laughs again, which is really kind of a stupid move because she's punched him before so it's not exactly an empty threat. She cocks her head, like she's trying to decide exactly how she's going to eviscerate him, and the glass of amber liquid in her hand catches his eye – she's tossed a drink in his face before too, he remembers, so she's pretty dangerous at the moment.

"Okay, listen," he says, trying to project an air of calm that he doesn't feel. "Let's both take a deep breath and just relax."

She sighs angrily, clearly wanting to protest, but she looks away, swirling the tequila in her glass and refusing to meet his eyes. He's not going to be ignored anymore, so he grabs the glass from her and drains it in a single gulp. As he expects, she watches the entire time and the weight of her stare on him is equal parts unnerving and erotic.

But when he lowers the glass and really looks at her, he sees what he hasn't wanted to since the bar – behind the very real fury and rage, there's genuine hurt in her eyes and it's all because of him.

"You're obviously upset, Annie," he says. "Why won't you just tell me why?"

Her expression hardens and he has to resist the urge to flinch away from her.

"Because you already know," she grits out. "You just want to make me say it out loud, so you can gloat about it."

He meets her eyes for as long as he can, but eventually, he has to lower his head to escape the raw, wounded look on her face, which hits him just like a swift kick to the solar plexus.

(He has to face facts - there is no woman who has ever had this effect on him. And the frightening thing is that it has nothing to do with sex. She could wreck him with a glance or a sigh long before she ever took her clothes off for him. That means something, he knows, but he isn't ready to acknowledge exactly what that is and why he can't seem to stop it.)

"It's about that woman," he says. "Back at the bar."

Annie exhales sharply, like the mere mention of the incident out loud has the power to undo her. He knows now that she's probably right – he wanted to make her admit it because he's still annoyed with her about their earlier disagreement and he wanted to punish her a little. It's sick and wrong – he knows that too – but that's what happens when you get involved with someone whose opinions actually matter to you. You lash out and do shitty things just to get a reaction because you're hurt and you want to dish a little out in return. What makes it worse is that you can find all the right buttons to push because you know the person well enough to understand the surest ways to hurt them back.

This is exactly the kind of stuff that he was dreading when they started up.

"I'm not naïve, Jeff," she says softly but firmly. "I know that you're with a lot of women and that's... fine. I'm not asking to go steady. But I don't think it's too much to ask that you wouldn't pick up some _floozy_ when I have a front row seat right behind you with all of our friends."

"Floozy?" he teases, but the joke doesn't land and she just stares back at him blankly. "Look, Annie, I went to the bar to get another round, and this woman started talking to me and offered to buy me a drink. I accepted. That's it. Okay? I didn't ask for her number."

"But she gave it to you, didn't she?"

He looks away again, because, yes, there's a napkin with a phone number and the name Tricia scrawled in red pen in his jacket pocket - though he hasn't looked at it since he shoved it there and has no real intention of using it. That hardly seems to matter when Annie's looking at him like she is, her blue eyes so liquid-y and soft that it seems like she could cry at any minute.

"If you think I don't know that you can have any woman you want, Jeff, I do," she says plainly. "You don't need to prove anything to me."

He shakes his head, because now he feels guilty and annoyed and a whole slew of other emotions that he doesn't want to examine too closely. He can admit that he's been a jerk, but that's not exactly the whole story.

"Let me get this straight," he says. "It's okay when some hunky bartender checks you out and waxes poetic about how beautiful your eyes are while I'm standing right next to you, but I have a polite conversation with a woman and I'm the bad guy? Is that how it works?"

She snorts in derision.

"Oh, come on, Jeff! He's a bartender. He'd say anything to get a bigger tip – it was totally innocent."

"Innocent?" he repeats. "Do you seriously not realize the way guys look at you?"

"Sure," she says dismissively. "I'm beating them off with a stick all the time."

"I'm a guy, Annie. I know what we look like when we're blatantly undressing a woman with our eyes – and when you enter a room, that's definitely what's going on. Believe me."

"Why are we even talking about this?" she cries, throwing her hands up. "Even if every guy in the place fell head over heels in love with me on the spot, I'm not the one who came home with someone else's number. Am I?"

"What was I supposed to do, Annie?" he demands. "Everyone was right there and if I acted like I wasn't interested, you know damn well what would have happened. They would've started interrogating me about why I wasn't all over the easy pickings at the bar. And I couldn't exactly tell them that you're my sure thing these days, could I?"

Her mouth falls open in obvious disgust, and there's a stung look in her eyes that makes him feel like utter shit.

He hasn't just crossed the line tonight; he set fire to it as he passed over it too.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. "I shouldn't have said that. You know I don't mean it like that."

"Jeff, it's not—"

"And I'm sorry I made you feel bad back at the bar. Really, I am."

She shrugs, like it's not a really big deal despite everything that's happened tonight, but she can't pull it off because she's got those ridiculously expressive eyes that still look shattered. So he does the only thing he can – he pulls the offending napkin out of his pocket and holds it up so she can see the loopy handwriting herself just before he tears it to pieces and throws it up in the air like confetti.

"Jeff! I didn't say you had to—"

"It doesn't matter," he says, reaching out to take her hand in his – and as angry and hurt as she may be, her fingers still tangle with his automatically. "Some random woman in a bar doesn't matter. You matter. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Okay? So let's just…"

She looks stunned for a moment, like he's said the absolute last thing that she was expecting to hear. His face feels hot and kind of tight, but he tries to ignore the awkwardness he feels. It's harder to do when Annie's expression softens as she steps closer to him. She bobs her head and he's pretty sure that she can see right through him, to all the broken, lost pieces of himself that haven't seen the light of day in years. He rubs his thumb against the inside of her wrist, and when she looks up at him from under heavy lashes, the tightness in his chest makes him a little dizzy. She stretches up on tip toe then and presses her mouth to his in what has to be the softest, gentlest kiss that he's ever felt in his life. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close even after she pulls back.

"I'm still not sleeping with you tonight," she says, trying to sound serious, but he can see that she's fighting off a smile, trying to make them both feel more comfortable.

"That's fine," he tells her. "Because I'm not sleeping with you either. Even if you beg."

She gapes at him in amused outrage and smacks his shoulder.

"I would never beg," she declares. "But if I did, you would give in in a second."

He shrugs.

"I guess we'll never know." He slides his hands over her hips. "Because you'd never beg."

She tosses her hair over her shoulder haughtily.

"That's right."

He takes a step away from her, jerking his thumb toward the door.

"Then I guess I should be heading out. Have a good night."

She grabs his hand and tugs him toward her bedroom.

"Get in here before Troy and Abed come home, dummy," she laughs.

In her room, no one has to beg because they're on the same page for the first time all night. Maybe he could be with anyone that he wants, but that's exactly where he is right now – with her, in her ridiculous pink and floral bedroom, with her noisy roommates about to come home at any minute.

On the bed, she rises in his lap, curling her hand around the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

"I'm still a little mad," she whispers against his lips.

"I'm still a lot sorry," he whispers back.


	11. Everything That Catches Up

A/N: I was originally going to post this chapter in a day or two, but I enjoyed last night's episode so much that I decided not to wait. There are no spoilers whatsoever, though, so you can read even if you haven't seen 5x03 yet.

* * *

He should probably worry when he finds himself watching 'Mean Girls' without complaining.

It would be one thing if he were doing it to get sex – that's a valid reason that no guy in the world could bust his balls over – but he's already spent almost two hours doing absolutely wicked things with Annie that have left him more than sated.

Now, they're waiting for their Chinese food to show up so they need something to watch on TV to pass the time and the Avalanche game doesn't start for another hour. He's not inclined to complain, though, because he's stretched out lazily across the sofa with his feet in Annie's lap and she's doing a pretty amazing job of massaging them. He may have guilted her into it by whining about how he was on his feet all day teaching – which may be a slight exaggeration, but he thinks that he deserves the massage based solely on the fact that he had to set foot on Greendale's campus at all today – but she's taking the job pretty seriously anyway.

Annie's attire could also be why he's feeling magnanimous about the whole movie thing – she's wearing nothing but one of his Hermes T-shirts, and it's so big and loose that it's slipping off one of her shoulders to show lots of bare skin and he can see the shadow of her nipples through the white cotton if he strains hard enough.

It's pretty fucking fantastic.

"I forget that Lindsay Lohan was actually cute once upon a time," he says, as the redhead starts to belt out 'Jingle Bell Rock' onscreen.

"Drugs," Annie says sagely.

He smiles as she presses her thumb into the arch of his foot, tickling him a bit.

"Well, even pre-drugs, she doesn't look as half as hot as you did in your Santa costume."

Annie groans.

"Let's not revisit that fiasco, please."

She scrapes a nail along the sole of his foot until he squirms and knocks a pillow off the sofa.

"Let's be honest," he says. "How much of fiasco could it really have been if I agreed to sing afterward?"

Annie tilts her head, considering this for a moment, and a small, sly smile blossoms across her mouth. They stare at one another from opposite ends of the couch, and he finds himself falling under the spell of her wide blue eyes yet again.

Since the beginning, he always figured that the thing between them was wrong because of the inequality of it all – she's a sweet, idealistic kid and he's a cynical, manipulative guy, so clearly he'd hold all the cards in a relationship. But that's not really the truth – because Annie goes toe-to-toe with more than anyone he's ever known and the power that she's always had over him more than levels the playing field. Yeah, maybe some of it has to do with the magnetic pull of lust, but really, it's just that her feelings matter to him, always have, and he's almost physically incapable of not doing what he can to make sure that she's happy – or just less unhappy.

Jesus, that's just embarrassing.

But it's not like he's going to cop to that anytime soon – he can live with the embarrassment if he's the only one who knows about it.

Annie tugs on his big toe playfully.

"Don't you ever have any papers or tests to grade for your classes?"

"I don't really give out written assignments."

She squints in confusion.

"So how do you grade your students then?"

"It's pretty much just class participation," he says. "You know, I say some stuff, they hang on my every word, sometimes they contribute a little to the conversation too, and in the end, I'll grade them based on how much I like them."

"Jeff!" she cries in absolute horror. "That's terrible. You can't fail someone just because you don't like them!"

"I don't think I'm actually going to fail anyone. Well, maybe that one guy who's always snapping his gum and wearing Ed Hardy T-shirts, but he's just asking for it." Jeff taps his chin thoughtfully. "But see, then there's Tony, who brings me coffee before every class so he'll be at the top of the curve with an A. Oh, and that blonde who's always wearing these tiny tank tops even though it's still February. She gets an A too."

"Jeff!"

Annie shoves his feet out of her lap and crawls toward him so she can smack his chest in outrage. He's pretty sure that it's the idea that grades would be based on anything other than hard work and diligence that has her so riled up and not jealousy, but he teases her anyway.

"Relax, Annie. If you were in my class, you'd totally get an A-plus." He smirks, running a hand down her back. "Depending on how this evening ends, maybe even an elusive A-plus-*plus*."

She groans and pushes herself up off the sofa, towering over him for once.

"I would never take a class with you," she declares. "Because I actually want to learn something. And earn my grade."

He opens his mouth, but she holds up a hand to cut him off.

"And don't make some stupid joke about how I would earn it with sexual favors because that's just gross."

She turns, with a final disgusted shake of her head, and heads for the bathroom.

"It's funny," he calls after her. "You know, if you actually have a sense of humor."

Her only response is to slam the bathroom door, and he laughs, pushing himself up to a sitting position on the sofa. On the TV, Lindsay Lohan's pretending to be bad at math to get some dopey guy to like her, and he could grab the remote and change the channel now that Annie's out of the room, but it's all the way on the other side of the coffee table and he can't be bothered to reach for it.

There's a knock at the door then anyway, which means that their food is finally here. No one buzzed up from downstairs, but the delivery guy probably came in behind someone from the building. Jeff grabs his wallet from the console table and heads for the door, remembering just how hungry he is. But then they did work up quite an appetite earlier, so it only stands to reason.

When he opens the door, though, he isn't greeted with the tempting smell of Kung Pao chicken and pot stickers.

Instead, he finds himself face to face with Dean Pelton, who's sporting a ridiculous smile and a too-big hooded sweatshirt with Greendale's ridiculous logo across the chest.

"Jeffrey! What good luck to find you at home! Usually all my knocking goes for naught."

Jeff sighs in annoyance.

"I thought you were my dinner."

"Yum," the Dean says, patting his stomach. "What are we having?"

Before Jeff even realizes what's happening, he's pushing his way inside the apartment – and Jeff's got to give it to him because he's surprisingly strong for such a little guy.

"Sorry, Dean. I didn't really order enough for..."

He suddenly remembers that Annie's in the other room.

Shit.

Half-naked Annie – well, she's completely covered up, but she's not wearing any underwear. He knows that for sure – in his bathroom and two wines glasses on his coffee table and a girly movie on his TV.

Could the scene be any more incriminating?

And just like that, his annoyance gives way to panic in a big way.

"Oh, that's fine," the Dean says. "I actually stopped by to ask you for a little favor. We're having an open house for prospective students next week, and I usually like to have a faculty member stop by and say a few words. I can't think of anyone who would make a better impression on potential students that you, Jeffrey. Particularly if you wear one of your suits. You know, maybe the navy pinstripe one. With the burgundy tie."

Jeff sneaks a look at the bathroom, where everything seems to be quiet. Maybe Annie heard the Dean come in and is planning to stay put until he leaves. That's a pretty good plan, so long as Jeff can actually manage to get rid of him.

"Let me sleep on it, okay? I'll talk to you about it tomorrow. At school."

The Dean crosses his arms over his chest, looking as serious as he ever gets.

"This is very important, Jeffrey. Greendale's enrollment has fallen off a little in recent years, and we really need a strong incoming class next semester. You're the ideal person to represent the school since you've seen both sides of the coin as a student and a faculty member. We're counting on you."

"I understand. Really. I'm just trying—"

"Jeff, do you have any more of that sandalwood body lotion? I love the way it…"

Jeff's back is to her, but he can pinpoint the exact moment that Annie spots the Dean by the way her voice dies its slow, agonizing death. When he turns to face her, her eyes are comically wide and she's frozen in place like she might be able to disappear into her surroundings if she just stays still long enough. The Dean is staring at her like she's a train wreck celebrity who's just had a particularly embarrassing wardrobe malfunction on the red carpet – there's shock, titillation, and intrigue in his expression.

And Jeff has to admit that she makes a pretty compelling sight, what with the way his T-shirt is slipping off her shoulder to just hint at the perfect curve of her breast and her bare legs seem to go on for miles.

Plus, she's not wearing any panties either…

The Dean clears his throat and looks over at Jeff, who doesn't know exactly what to say. There's nothing to defend or explain – the Dean isn't like their friends who have an emotional investment in whatever's going on between he and Annie because it has the potential to affect them personally, but there is still damage control that needs to be done.

Jeff just isn't sure where to start.

"Annie," the Dean finally says. "I didn't realize you were here."

She fidgets, pulling on the hem of the T-shirt to try to coax a few extra inches out of it – she's stretching it out, Jeff thinks ruefully. And what's the point because it already reaches her knees anyway? Hell, she should just keep it at this point. He'll put it aside for her to wear whenever she's over – and shifting her weight from foot to foot like she needs to make a return trip to the bathroom.

"I'm just…. I was only… We were… You know…"

She looks at Jeff almost pleadingly, like she wants him to dig her out of this mess, but honestly he's curious about how she possibly thinks her presence and appearance can be explained away here innocently. He can't think of a single explanation except the truth, and he's a consummate liar.

Annie opens her mouth a few times without making a sound before finally going for it.

"Jeff and I are sleeping together," she blurts out, sounding vaguely hysterical. "We're having sex."

He's amused – and actually, maybe a little bit charmed – at her blunt, unadorned telling of the truth, so he finds himself smirking and bobbing his head in agreement.

"Well, now," the Dean says, a hand pressed over his heart. "I always knew there was a little *something* between you two. I just didn't realize that it was, you know, an actual *thing.*"

"That's kind of the point," Jeff says. "No one really knows. We're trying to keep it private."

"I see, I see." The Dean cocks his head then, like something has suddenly occurred to him. "Well, then, it seems like you might be grateful to someone who was willing to keep his mouth shut about what he saw here today. Maybe you'd want to do him a *favor* to show your gratitude."

Jeff groans.

"You're going to force me to do the stupid open house thing."

"Oh, Jeffrey! Thank you so much for volunteering."

"He's happy to do it," Annie says brightly – though she obviously knows that's a lie. Right now, Jeff's pretty sure that she would say anything to get the Dean out of here as fast as possible. "Really, really happy."

Somehow, she manages not to flinch when the Dean comes over and lays a hand on her shoulder – at least it's the one where the T-shirt hasn't fallen aside.

"As exciting as all this is, I bet it takes its toll after a while. You know, not being able to tell anyone," he says. "So if you ever need someone to talk to, share stories with… I'm here for you, Annie. No detail is too small…" He smiles at Jeff over his shoulder "Or big, as the case may be. And who knows? Maybe you can even help improve your boyfriend's attitude about—"

"Oh, no," Annie declares, shaking her head insistently. "No. He's not my boyfriend. He's just, you know…"

She looks at Jeff again, but there's nothing pleading in her expression this time. There's just confusion and hesitance, which he recognizes immediately because he feels much of the same. He doesn't know any better than she does what he is to her, what they are to each other.

"Well, sure," the Dean says. "You guys are progressive. You don't need such juvenile labels. So let me rephrase that – Annie, see if you can help improve your *lover's* attitude about the open house. Please." He claps his hands and grins. "My work here is done… and never let it be said that Craig Pelton is a third wheel. Well, there was that one time, but I was misled about the—"

"Thanks so much for stopping by, Dean," Jeff says, putting a hand on the man's shoulder and guiding him toward the door. "It's been a treat as always."

It only takes two shoves to actually get him out of the apartment, which seems like an accomplishment to Jeff. He closes the door and turns to find Annie in the same exact spot that she's been frozen in since she stumbled out of the bathroom into a minefield.

"Well, that wasn't at all awkward," he says lightly.

She meets his eyes reluctantly, and the tension in the room is about as awkward and uncomfortable as it gets. The word 'boyfriend' seems to be hanging in the air between them and they're both terrified of getting smacked with it. He doesn't know what to tell her because he doesn't know if he can be her boyfriend or partner or significant other. He can be her lover – he's played that role to rave reviews so far - and he can be her friend – they've mastered that over the past four years - but the rest of it is a murky mess that he just doesn't want to sort through right now.

"He's going to tell someone," Annie says. "He won't set out to do it, but he'll get himself into some kind of trouble and he'll throw us under the bus to deflect. I know it."

Jeff tries to conjure up a reassuring smile.

"It'll be fine," he tells her, only half-believing it. "He likes you a lot and he loves me. He doesn't want to piss us off."

She sighs, shaking her head, and he decides that it's past time to change the mood around here.

"Whatever you do, though," he says, stepping closer so he can right the T-shirt on her shoulder. "Don't even think about feeding that man's fantasies with any personal details about me, okay? There needs to be clear and strong boundaries."

She huffs out a little laugh.

"He has made me aware of the blackmail potential here," she teases. "I have that photo of you in a towel after you got out of the shower the other day. I bet the Dean would just *love* a copy. So if you don't want me to share, you may have to do a little something for me…"

He laughs, winding his arms around her waist and tugging her against his body.

"Yeah? Like what? Need I remind you that I've been watching a Lindsay Lohan movie for the past half hour without being coerced?"

She tilts her head, smiling coyly.

"Well, I've always kind of had this fantasy," she whispers.

He perks up – some parts of him more than others.

"Really? And why am I just hearing about it now?"

"Because as much as you'll like the end result, I don't think you're going to like the lead-up to it much."

He frowns, suddenly a little unnerved – Annie's been much more uninhibited in bed than he ever expected, but he doesn't have her pegged as someone with any really serious kinks.

"Oh, stop," she says, swatting at his shoulder. "It's nothing gross. It's just that… well, it might involve the destruction of part of your wardrobe."

He groans.

"I really don't like the sound of this now."

She reaches up and toys with one of the buttons on his shirt – he only fastened a few when he threw it back on after they left the bedroom so it's mostly hanging open around him.

"You look so good in button-down shirts like this," she says softly. "And I've just always sort of fantasized about tearing one off you … you know, so all the buttons go flying and everything."

He grins, grinding his hips against her just bit.

"First of all, this shirt cost almost $200," he says. "And second of all, I have serious doubts about whether you're actually strong enough to rip it off. What do you weigh? 100 pounds soaking wet?"

She plucks at one of his buttons with determination.

"Are you giving me permission to try?"

He shrugs.

"Go for it."

She smiles victoriously and reaches up to do a few more buttons on the shirt. He raises an eyebrow, but her grin doesn't falter.

"I don't want it to be too easy," she says.

Of course not.

Annie Edison doesn't want anything just handed to her.

He watches in amusement as she finishes and smoothes the shirt down against his chest. She looks up at him with such hunger in her eyes that he's practically twitching with the need to touch her.

"Ready?"

He bobs his head, unable to wipe the smirk off his face. She grabs his shirt on either side, just above the last closed button, and tugs once lightly, almost experimentally. Then she bites her lip, looking up at him once more, and pulls for all she's worth.

It doesn't exactly go quite as dramatically as she probably wants – the shirt withstands her first tug and when she grips it a little tighter and tugs it a little harder only two buttons actually pop off, striking the wall just behind him. She's undeterred, though, because she gives it one more try, pulling the two halves of his shirt in opposite directions, and it finally gives way completely, the rest of the buttons pinging against the floor at their feet.

They look at one another and laugh because everything about this is a little ridiculous – until Annie pushes the shirt off his shoulders and he lifts her up against him so she can wrap her legs around his waist and kiss him thoroughly, her hands fisted in his hair.

It becomes pretty serious then.

He staggers to the bedroom, somehow making it all the way to his bed without banging into any walls. In record time, they manage to get his pants off and a condom from the nightstand. There's no need to take Annie's T-shirt off because it's so baggy that it's easy to push it up and out of the way.

He waits until he's inside her and she's staring up at him with hazy, heavy-lidded eyes before he asks.

"Did it live up to the fantasy?"

She squeezes his hips with her knees and nods lazily.

"Reality's always better than fantasy," she tells him.

He's not sure that's really true, but right now, with her hot and tight all around him, it's difficult to argue the point.

Afterward, he lies beside her, trying to catch his breath, as she straightens her shirt and pulls it back down to cover herself. She looks radiant, with her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and he tugs on a corner of the tee.

"You can keep this," he tells her.

She looks at him in confusion.

"Keep what?"

"The shirt. It can be yours whenever you come over and need something to put on." He grins, giving the cotton another tug. "Which, for the record, I don't think is necessary. You should feel free to walk around au natural whenever the mood strikes."

Annie smiles, smoothing the cotton over her thighs and looking very pleased. He won't call himself her boyfriend, but he lets her destroy his clothing – that's got to count for something. She looks up at him after minute, her grin turning astute.

"It's because I stretched it out. Isn't it?"

He nods reluctantly.

"You did," he says. "You stretched it all out."

She laughs, sliding her foot along his calf.

"It's still a nice gesture. I appreciate it."

Her smile is genuine, but it hollows out some part of him, that nagging, little piece of him that knows he isn't anywhere near good enough for her. He rolls onto his side, so he can kiss her, just another in a long line of inadequate gestures on his part.

Still, he doesn't stop for a good, long while, not until the buzzer sounds in the other room to signal that their dinner has finally arrived.


	12. Only A Full House

As pathetic as being a faculty member at Greendale may be, he has discovered a few upsides.

When he was a student, he usually had three or four classes a day – and that one black semester, five classes every Tuesday. The kind of schedule didn't allow for nearly enough down time for his tastes.

As a teacher, he has two classes a day at most, which means there's plenty of free time to work with.

He's also discovered that for some reason, the cafeteria is nearly deserted between 10:30 and 11, which means that he can get some peace and quiet there when he's tired of staring at the blank concrete walls of his so-called office.

Today, he's even putting the time to good use – instead of playing Temple Run or browsing Barney's website, he's skimming an actual law book in preparation for his afternoon class. He's not about to tell her, but Annie's not so subtle digs at his teaching style – or lack thereof - have started to irk him just a bit and it's beginning to seem like the only real solution is to, you know, actually teach.

Besides, she wasn't entirely wrong when she suggested that he might be good at it.

If anyone can make learning remotely enjoyable, it's Jeff Winger.

He's jotting down a few notes, feeling very pleased with himself, when Britta unexpectedly blows into the cafeteria and collapses in the booth across from him. If her frantic expression didn't clue him in to the fact that something is wrong, the fact that she's not greeting him with the usual theatrical "Pro-fes-sore" that's been her habit since he started teaching would do the trick.

"Something's up with Annie," she declares, drumming her fingers against the table.

He blinks in confusion – he spent most of last night with Annie and when he left her, just before Troy and Abed came home from their bowling league, she was more than fine.

Of course, he can't exactly say that.

So he plays it cool instead.

"Oh yeah? What's wrong?"

They're entering dicey waters here because Britta clearly stills sees them in some kind of parental role in Annie's life, and given the current state of his relationship with her, that's just beyond creepy. If he's going to keep the whole thing from feeling wrong and inappropriate and just plain gross, he has to respect Annie enough not meddle in her life unless she actually asks for his help. So he kind of just wants to tell Britta that Annie's a grown woman who can take care of her own shit - but that seems pretty self-serving, like he's trying to justify his involvement with her by asserting that Annie can take care of herself when he's never really acted like that before.

He's screwed.

"Her neck is freaking covered in hickeys," Britta says, sounding outraged. "It looks like she's been fooling around with a freaking octopus… or a 14-year old in a really vicious game of Seven Minutes in Heaven."

He clenches his jaw to try to keep from reacting – because seriously, all he wants at the moment is to clear his good name and explain to Britta that he did it on purpose. He hasn't accidentally left a hickey on anyone since he got out of junior high, thank you very much.

"Okay," he says slowly. "So Annie's gettin' some. Good for her, right?" He shrugs indifferently. "I mean, she's 22 and having some fun. Aren't you always going on and on about how women should take control of their sexuality?"

Britta bobs her head.

"Yeah, sure, of course. But when I asked her about the guy, she wouldn't give anything up – almost to the point where she was denying that there was even a guy in the first place."

He's seriously uncomfortable now and he gazes longingly at the door on the opposite side of the cafeteria, fantasizing about an escape.

"Well, she's entitled to her privacy, right?" he says lamely.

Britta gapes at him like he's an idiot.

"This isn't about her damn privacy, Jeff. You know her as well as I do – when she's into a guy, it's impossible for her to hide it. It's all Taylor Swift lyrics and hearts doodled in her notebook. If she's reigning herself in like this, there's only one logical explanation."

He panics for a minute – Britta couldn't possibly know, could she?

Maybe Annie was right and the Dean went and blabbed all over the place about what he saw in Jeff's apartment last week.

But subtlety isn't really Britta's thing, so if she suspected for a second that he was the one responsible for Annie's love bites, she would have charged in here, guns a-blazing, and just started accusing him. She wouldn't play games like this.

Unless she can't resist watching him squirm...

He's overthinking this, he tells himself. Britta doesn't know a damned thing.

"And that would be?" he asks, trying to act like this entire conversation is about to bore him to tears.

"There's something seriously wrong with this guy and she knows that we won't approve."

It's official, he thinks. The universe has a seriously sick sense of humor.

"That's one theory," he says. "But even if it's true, what are we supposed to do about it? Remember when we interfered with her and Vaughn once upon a time? We didn't wind up feeling too good about that in the end."

Britta frowns, looking pretty contrite.

"I know. I'm not suggesting we hatch any schemes. I wanted to be mature about this and just talk to her. So I reminded her that she can tell me anything without fear of judgment because, you know, I'm training to be a therapist…" He tries very hard not to roll his eyes. "But she's locked up tighter than Fort Knox. She wouldn't even tell me where she met him."

"Okay," Jeff says. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

"You should try talking to her," Britta tells him. "You know how much weight you carry with her. If anyone can get her to open up, it's you."

He rubs at the bridge of his nose to try to massage away the ache that's starting to overtake his head.

"So let me get this straight—you want me to corner Annie and demand that she tell me who she's sleeping with?"

"Not demand," Britta hisses. "Just express your concern and see if she'll give up any details so we can figure out exactly how much trouble she's in."

He tips his head backward, sighing in absolute frustration. Even if he wasn't the guy in question, this entire conversation would be the definition of uncomfortable and inappropriate.

"Britta, I think it's time we stop meddling in Annie's life. She's not a kid anymore." He hopes that doesn't sound as creepy as it feels to say. "Don't we have to trust her? I mean, when you sleep with some no-good douche bag, I don't butt my nose in. As your friend, I make hilarious jokes at your expense and trust that in time, you'll wise up and dump the loser."

She frowns and makes a big show of giving him the finger.

"This is Annie we're talking about, Jeff."

He shrugs, like that doesn't really mean anything to him.

Big mistake.

"What is with you?" Britta demands. "Usually, all it takes is the slightest hint that some guy's sniffing around her and you're ready to draw blood. Now, some jerk is mauling her and making her to lie to her friends and you couldn't care less. What the hell, Jeff?"

She's right, of course – he's going to give everything away if he keeps acting like he doesn't want anything at all to do with Annie's life.

"Fine," he snaps. "I'll talk to Annie the next time I see her. Happy now?"

"Yes," Britta chirps happily, pushing herself out of the booth. "Just don't be your usual douche-y self. She won't tell you anything if you're acting all jealous and territorial. You know, like you own her or something."

He bobs his head, biting his tongue for all he's worth.

It isn't until later in the afternoon that he's finally able to track Annie down. He finds her all alone at the table in the study room, head bent over a textbook. She's got a big, floral print scarf looped around her neck over her sweater that is impossible to ignore – of course, she raised Britta's suspicions with that thing. He really needs to have a little chat with her about subtlety.

"So I'm supposed to grill you about the jerk that you're sleeping with," he announces as he strolls in.

Annie looks up in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"Apparently, Britta thinks the guy in your life is bad news and she sent me here to get the dirt."

Annie slams her textbook shut.

"Damn it!" she cries. "I told her to leave it alone. She's the worst!"

Jeff smiles, leaning against the edge of the table just beside her books.

"Well, that's the true but…" He nudges her hand with his knee. "Do I need to do something about this guy, Annie? You know I'm more of a lover than a fighter so I won't offer to kick his ass, but I could send him a strongly worded e-mail about how he'll get what-for if he doesn't treat you right."

She smiles, flushing just a bit.

"It's awful, Jeff," she says, all faux seriousness. "The other day, he used up the last of my mousse without telling me. That's why my hair's so flat today."

She fluffs it in an exaggerated fashion, and he smirks.

"I'm sure that he was having some kind of hair emergency that made it absolutely necessary."

Annie pulls down her scarf to expose her neck.

"He also left these ridiculous hickeys all over the place where any snoopy busybody could see them."

"And I'm sure those aren't retaliation for gouges that you might have left down his back the other day when you got a little too enthusiastic. You know, the kind of scratches that sting in the shower every day for a week?"

She tosses her hair over her shoulder primly, pretending that she hasn't heard him.

"He hogs the covers too."

"But I bet you never rub your icy feet all over his nice warm legs when you get cold, huh?" Jeff says. "You know, after hearing all this, I'm actually starting to feel for the guy. Clearly, he's got his hands full with you."

She swats at his knee, but she's smiling in that soft, wistful way of hers that always stops him dead in his tracks.

"I think he makes out okay," she says, lowering her voice just a bit. "I mean, I did make him low-carb pancakes and an egg white omelet the other day and brought it to him in bed."

Jeff nods thoughtfully.

"I bet it was delicious. Even if he had to do 50 extra crunches afterward."

"And let's not forget all the back and foot rubs," she says.

"Well, sure, he must appreciate that, what with the amazingly stressful job that he probably has."

Annie giggles, shaking her head and tapping her fingers against the back of his hand.

"So where did we land on the e-mail?" he teases. "Am I sending it or not?"

She tilts her head, like she's considering the offer very seriously.

"I think I'd like to see what that e-mail might say."

He leans in close, so she has to back away slightly to maintain eye contact.

"I'll probably tell him that when he really wants to shut you up, there's this spot just above your—"

"Jeff!" She clamps a hand over his mouth and he can't resist nibbling at her fingers. "Stop it! Someone could walk in at any minute."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grumbles, straightening up.

Annie lowers her head and traces a finger long the seam at the inside of his thigh – he's pretty sure that this would look just as suspicious as him leaning into her personal space if someone were to walk in, but he's not about to point that out.

"Seriously, though," she says. "What are we going to do about Britta?"

He blows out a frustrated breath and rubs at his eyes.

"I'll stall her," he says. "I'll tell her that you guys just started up and you want a little more time to get to know each other before you start telling people."

Annie nods.

"I guess that sounds plausible," she sighs. "It's becoming so complicated. The Dean knows and now Britta's getting suspicious. It's all kind of a mess, isn't it?"

He takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.

"It'll be fine. You've only got a couple more months here, and once we're not in daily contact with everyone, it'll be easier to keep under wraps."

She bobs her head in agreement.

"Yeah. Sure. You're right." She looks up at him, her expression stunningly soft. "I'm not embarrassed about this or anything. I don't want you to think that."

"No," he says, automatically. "Of course not. Me either."

"It's just that we both know what will happen when they find out," she says. "They'll make this big deal out of it and ask all sorts of questions and we'll get all self-conscious and annoyed and that'll lead to all kinds of fights… I'd just like to put that off for as long as possible."

He smiles, sliding his fingers through hers again.

"We're in total agreement."

He's not lying – the shit will hit the proverbial fan when their friends find out and he's just as reluctant as she is to deal with that mess. But whether she wants to admit it or not, there's only so long that they can keep the group in the dark. Sooner or later, they're going to have to own up to what's happening between them. His experience with Britta definitely taught him that. Not that he's about to bring that up now – because actually, he wonders if Annie's hesitance to let anyone know about them has something to do with the fact that everything between he and Britta came crashing to halt when the rest of the group found out.

He should tell her that she's nothing like Britta, that there's nothing about this thing between them that's even remotely similar to his relationship with Britta, but somehow, he can't bring himself to do it.

He's talked to Dr. Strome about some of these feelings that he's had lately that he just can't seem to verbalize and she encouraged him to write them down, like a damn 12-year old girl in her diary, to make himself more comfortable with expressing them - for a second, he honestly wondered if his therapist was in cahoots with Annie or something. Dr. Strome actually gave him a pen and legal pad at their last session to try, but all he came up with was, "I love the way Annie calls my name when she comes."

His therapist was not impressed.

Annie rubs her thumb against his palm, and he has to hide the shiver that runs through him. He has to get out of here before he does something really embarrassing like drop to his knees in front of her in full view of everyone in the library.

"I should go," he says. "I've got a very important e-mail to write."

She smiles so sweetly, and he wishes like hell that he could kiss her right now, but he has to settle for squeezing her hand as he backs away.

"Don't forget to 'cc me," she calls after him.

It's ridiculous, but as he walks back to his office, he's actually thinking about writing that e-mail to himself.

Dr. Strome would definitely approve, and someone needs to remind him exactly what's at stake here.


	13. Pin Me Down

A/N: As always, thanks to everyone who's reading along - it's much appreciated!

* * *

She isn't hard to find.

When he steps out of the study room, she's barely a hundred feet away, in the hallway between the study area and the stacks, where she's pacing and shaking her head and very possibly mumbling to herself.

It's hard to tell from a distance.

Still, her body language makes it pretty clear that she's agitated, and while he has more than a sneaking suspicion as to why she's so worked up, the whole thing strikes him as funny more than anything else.

Well, not that seeing her so upset is amusing, but the fact that she's whipped herself up into such a frenzy over something so small is kind of humorous.

Because it all started innocently enough.

He'd been in his office late, grading the very first written assignment for his Fundamentals of Law class, thank you very much, and by the second hour, the urge to gouge his eyes out with a ballpoint pen rather than read another damn essay became disturbingly strong. Fortunately, that's when he remembered that Annie had mentioned the study group had a test in their philosophy class in the morning and they were meeting for a second time tonight to cram.

It seemed perfect – he'd ditch the grading for a while and coax them into a study break. If he knew his friends as well as he thought, they'd all – with the possible exception of Annie – be desperate for a little respite from all their studying too so it wouldn't take much convincing to get them to goof off for a little while.

So he breezed into the study room, took his usual seat at the table, and it was just like old times – the same stupid jokes, petty disagreements, and general nonsense. As predicted, they were all happy to see him – save Annie, who seemed to get super twitchy and unfocused as soon as he showed up.

And that was before he made the – apparently - colossal mistake of glancing over at her a time or two.

Suddenly, all hell seemed to break loose, culminating with her fleeing from the room like she feared for her life.

To a certain extent, he gets it.

She's been a little edgy ever since the Dean barged his way into Jeff's apartment and found out that they've gotten to know one another in the biblical sense, but Britta launching her misguided investigation into the new guy in Annie's life seemed to be the final straw.

Instead of making her act more covertly, though, the whole thing has her behaving in ways that are only going to rouse suspicion – steadfastly avoiding conversation with him whenever the group is together, pretending that she doesn't see him if they pass one another in the hallway, parking lot, or cafeteria when anyone that they know is in the general vicinity, refusing to pass through doors that he's holding open for her like the gentleman that his mother raised.

She's kind of gone nuts.

He's chosen to ignore it for as long as he could – because let's face, there's little point in arguing with Annie when she's made her mind up about something and he figured that she'd realize on her own how ridiculous it all was – but he heads toward her now with a smile because it's becoming clear that she's not going to have an epiphany any time soon and he probably needs to stage an intervention if she's going to calm down before she blows their cover.

"If you go running from the room every time I look at you," he says as he walks over to her. "Someone's going to catch on."

She looks up at him in surprise and outrage.

"It's your fault, Jeff!" She points an accusing finger his way. "You have to stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?" he asks innocently.

She crosses her arms over her chest and levels him with a cool stare.

"Like you've seen me naked," she hisses.

He gives her a slow, purposeful onceover - from her dark, shiny hair to her sultry eyes and smart, lush mouth to her breasts straining against a tight purple sweater to her firm legs in smoky gray tights. It might be his ego-fueled imagination, but he's pretty sure that she trembles under the weight of his intense stare.

"I can't help it," he tells her. "Before, I had to imagine all the details. Now I've got a concrete picture in my head and sometimes it just comes to me at the most inopportune times."

"Well, too bad," she declares. "You can't look at me like I'm a four course meal at a five star restaurant and you've been eating nothing but ramen for weeks, okay? It's … distracting. And you kept it up forever! You may as well have taken a picture or something."

He cocks his head.

"Is that really on the table? Because you know, sometimes you're busy studying or do-gooding and a guy has needs. A photo would come in pretty handy." He grins, probably more pleased with himself than the situation warrants. "That pun was totally unintentional, I swear."

She smacks at his arm and glares, though he's a little too distracted by her heaving breasts to focus much on her expression.

"I'm serious, Jeff. We talked about this. If we don't want everyone and their mother to know, you have to be a little more … discreet."

There's a strange gleam in her eye as she says the last word, and it annoys him for some reason.

"What about you?" he asks. "You ran out of the room like it was on fire. Don't you think they're all speculating right now about why that might be?"

She glances back toward the study room, frowning.

"And you came after me… they're totally going to know something's up! What is wrong with you?"

She throws her hands up in the air, like he's a little kid who's somehow too stupid to grasp the basics of coloring inside the lines.

"Here, I thought I was being a nice guy, coming to see if you were okay. I'll try to resist that impulse in the future."

"Oh, please," she huffs. "You didn't come out here to be nice. You came to see if you'd gotten me worked up enough to convince me to go fool around in your office."

"Yeah, you've got me all figured out." He smirks and steps closer to her. "But news flash – it doesn't take all that much convincing to get you to fool around."

She narrows her eyes and reaches out to swat at his arm again, but he catches her hand against his chest before she can do any damage and walks her into one of the shelf-lined library alcoves until he has her backed up against a row of books. He curls his hands around her hips, tugging her against him. She looks up in surprise, but she's flushed and breathing hard so he doesn't think that she minds the way their bodies are pressed together.

He certainly doesn't.

"Isn't this what you've always wanted?" he asks, in a low, serious voice. "Me out of my damn mind for you?"

He tightens his grip on her hips, and she makes a sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a moan. She stares up at him, her dark eyes strangely calm, and nods.

"Well, then, mission accomplished," he says, just before he seals his mouth over hers.

She clutches at his shoulders, pulling at his shirt in a desperate attempt to get better leverage, and his hand slips beneath her sweater, zeroing in on that sweet spot at the small of her back. He crushes her to him so she's almost bent backward against the books and starts to kiss his way down her neck**. **She is practically vibrating against him, stepping up on the bottom shelf to erase some of their height difference.

It's impossible to tell who makes the first move, but suddenly she's undoing his belt buckle and he's pushing her skirt up and dragging her tights down to her knees. Annie kicks a couple of books off the shelf as she pulls him back to her mouth, sliding her tongue against his in that serious way of hers that steals his breath every time. Blindly, his fingers find the lacy edge of her panties, and he traces it slowly until she moans into his mouth and curls a hand around his hip to slide his clothed erection teasingly against the front of her silky underwear.

Suddenly, a door is flung open on the other side of the stacks, and they both freeze, his hand in her panties and hers clutching the elastic waistband of his briefs.

"If Annie's taking a break, so can I!" they hear Troy yell over Shirley and Britta's disapproving clucking. "I want Mike & Ike's and damn it, I'm gonna get 'em."

They stay absolutely still, holding their breath, until the door to the library opens and closes and the voices die down. When they look at one another again, they're both panting and a little dazed. Annie shakes her head, like she's trying her damnedest to come back to her senses.

"This is crazy," she whispers, slowly disengaging from him. "We almost had sex in a public place with our friends less than 100 feet away! We're deviants."

He'd probably be amused by the notion if there was enough blood flow to his brain to process it properly. He zips his pants and straightens his belt, still lost in the lusty fog.

"We just got a little carried away," he says distractedly.

But, of course, she has a point.

This is insanity.

Reckless, thoughtless, careless insanity.

"Well, we have to stop," Annie insists. "There's a lot that might go over their heads, but finding us with our hands down each other's pants definitely won't."

He watches as she tugs her tights up and smooths her skirt back into place. She tries to finger comb her hair into place too, but she has a tousled, rumpled look that makes her look ridiculously sexy. It's her face that concerns him, though – it has a pinched, worried look that makes him want to kiss away every tiny furrow from forehead. Because he knows that he's responsible for that face, coming out here like he did and confirming every fear that she had when he was just making eyes at her from across the table.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I didn't mean to—"

She shakes her head, cutting him off.

"No. Don't. It's as much my fault as yours. This…" She gestures to the space between them, which is still barely a couple of feet wide, like it's a living, breathing thing. "It's just really intense sometimes."

"I know," he whispers – and it is. It's kind of terrifying how uncontrollable it is feels sometimes, like they're both just swept up in something much bigger than either of them.

She lowers her head again, studying the threadbare carpeting at her feet, and her hair falls across her face. He reaches out to tuck it back behind her ear, and she looks up at him, her face so open and vulnerable that all he wants to do is make her smile.

"We shouldn't be too hard on ourselves, though," he says, grinning. "I mean, look at us. We're both seriously hot – how could we resist?"

She laughs softly, shaking her head. Her hands come to rest at his waist again and he rubs at her back gently, gathering her in a little closer.

"But just to be safe, no more funny business when our friends are within shouting distance," he suggests. "Okay?"

She starts to nod, but then hesitates, tilting her head.

"That means that whenever you get stranded in my room because Troy and Abed come home early, we wouldn't be able to do anything."

He cocks his head, mimicking her pose.

"That doesn't count," he says. "It's your bedroom - anything goes there. And they always listen to the TV so loud that they wouldn't hear anything."

She smiles and bobs her head in agreement.

"And you know, maybe we both need to consider making up stories about going out of town for spring break. We could hold up at my apartment and have sex for seven straight days. That might take the edge off for a while."

She smacks his hip, but she's still grinning.

"You're insane," she says.

"Don't you think you'd be safer with me than down in Cancun where you might overindulge in tequila and wind up in a 'Girls Gone Wild' video?"

Her smile turns wry, and she taps her fingers against his stomach, just above his belt.

"Isn't that exactly what will happen if I stay with you?"

He shrugs.

"Well, we don't necessarily have to videotape it."

She giggles, and he stoops down to kiss her once more, just a quick peck before he can get himself into too much trouble.

"Are you going to be here all night?" he asks. "I really want to see you later."

She flushes and pinches a piece of his shirt between her fingers to tug on it playfully.

"We should probably be done by 10 or 10:30. And I will need to relax after spending all night keeping them on track."

"'I gladly offer up my services then," he tells her. "I'll be waiting at my place with a glass of wine and the sterling company you've grown to know and love."

She gets that soft, adoring look that always makes him a little uncomfortable, and tugs him down for another kiss. She doesn't keep hers as chaste as his, her tongue sliding against his teasingly, but still it ends sooner than he'd like.

"That sounds really nice, actually," she says, pulling back to smooth some of the wrinkles from his shirt. "I should get back … though I don't know how I'm going to explain why I ran out like I did."

"Just tell them we had a fight this morning and you're still a little ticked. They'll buy that."

"They'll want to know what we're fighting about, though."

"Tell Britta it's her fault," he says, with a smirk. "You know, for making me talk to you about your mystery guy."

"Oh, that's kind of mean," Annie laughs.

He lifts his shoulders unapologetically.

"Serves her right for butting into your private business."

She steps out of the alcove into the aisle, heading back toward the study room.

"Technically," she enunciates carefully. "*Our* private business."

He smiles.

"So that's a hard no on the spring break video then?"

She spins back to face him and swats at his arm.

"Dream on."

They're closer to the study room now, so he stays a respectable distance from her in case anyone should wander out. She is definitely in a better mood than when he found her out here, which seems like a victory. She gives him this ridiculous, little wave that he assumes she means to be discreet, but he's not entirely sure how a wave could ever really be suspicious in the first place.

"I'll see you later," she whispers.

He watches as she heads back into the study room – she's barely inside for ten seconds before the barrage starts.

"Annie! There you are! Is everything okay?"

"Where'd you go for so long?"

"Did Jeff leave?"

That's his cue, he thinks.

He turns and slinks back in the direction that he came from so he can sneak out the side exit.


End file.
